


Golden Apples

by BetanSurvey (Scedasticity)



Series: Elite [1]
Category: Farscape
Genre: F/M, Gen, post-Fractures hiatus - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-29
Updated: 2012-12-28
Packaged: 2017-11-22 19:36:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 90,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/613491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scedasticity/pseuds/BetanSurvey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A long AU splitting off after Fractures. Following an abortive attack on Scorpius, John, Chiana, Jool, and Aeryn end up in the hands of an isolationist, militaristic species which isn't at all sure what to do with them. And then things get complicated...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This story was finally completed 12/2002, after it forced me to swear off mind-numbing computer games to get it done.

Yes, indeed. There it was. Right in the middle of a rjelln field. //And I thought agricultural rotation was supposed to be relaxing,// Lashan thought ruefully. //Well, that shows me.// She swung out of the rover and strode down the hill between the fields, untroubled by the still-dark sky. It would be morning soon enough -- too soon, in fact, since morning meant the first shift of units out in the fields, and no one could possibly not notice a Marauder crashed in a rjelln field. Bad enough that the unit on sentry duty and the medical response team were already involved. Lashan didn't know what was going on, but she was pretty sure it didn't need to concern every unit in the hemisphere.

As she passed the sonic generator that kept animals out of the crops, the sentry who'd comm'ed the report fell into step beside her. She didn't immediately remember his name, but he was young, with the common blond/brown stripe pattern in his hair and an emerging command-pattern of facial markings. As she preferred, he didn't bother with unnecessary honorifics in an 'active' situation. "There was no movement from the Marauder, but sensors indicated there was at least one person still alive in there, so medical response went ahead in. They're extracting survivors now."

The initial report had mentioned the sensor readings, which was most of the reason she was out here in person, instead of happily asleep while a salvage team discreetly hauled the rubble away. "I see frag cannon marks. Is most of the damage from a fight?"

"Most of it, yes. They had to land. But even with the damage it *could* have made a better landing than it did."

Lashan's mouth quirked. "Meaning *you*, for example, could have brought it in without..."

"Digging such a long furrow in the rjelln, say. And a halfway competent pilot could have avoided the rollovers." He indicated the lengthy trail of scarred ground behind the Marauder. "Navve -- the nearest sentry at the time it came down -- counted ten complete and very bumpy revolutions before it finally came to rest... upside-down, as you see, Captain. Someone was -- loosely speaking -- in control of it at that point, because several soldiers report it was steered for the rjelln from over the pfalln."

"Wise of them," Lashan remarked. The pfalln orchard was full of hardwood trees. "So... in your opinion, given the quality of the piloting, was a Peacekeeper flying that ship?"

The unit leader shrugged, then said judiciously. "It could have been a Peacekeeper -- wounded or in some other specialty. The flying was not up to Peacekeeper standards, no. And Medic Zhiv I think said they weren't Peacekeepers."

She nodded thoughtfully. "No one's approached the Marauder beyond the medics and assistance as required?"

"As per your orders, Captain."

"Good. Needless to say, this field -- and the ones immediately surrounding it -- are interdicted to off-duty personnel. Not that I need to tell you this, but impress on your unit that they are *not* to discuss this with any other units." Lashan looked once more at the Marauder and sighed. "You know, I was actually looking forward to this rotation and a nice, peaceful break from border patrol?" She didn't make the unit leader come up with a reply to that, but continued. "Your unit's relieved early. Get back to quarters and write your incident reports -- discuss it together, make sure you don't forget anything. We'll have a full debriefing later."

He nodded, "Captain," then hesitated. "Perhaps... it might be best if everyone logged their individual reports first, to prevent inadvertent... alterations."

Lashan nodded and waved him on. "Use your judgment, unit leader." She had a good crew. What pleased her even more than the coordination was the knowledge that he hadn't been afraid to make a differing suggestion. The Elite had come a long way from the obedient drone-soldiers they'd been designed as, and Lashan hoped to see them come further in her lifespan. //Though of course that becomes infinitely more difficult when the times call for soldiers...// Thankfully their political standing was a matter for the Central Jurisdate, not a mere captain. //But it certainly makes things no easier when Marauders come crashing down on us...//

The head medic, kneeling beside a mobile support unit checking a readout, looked up as Lashan approached. "We've extracted all survivors," he reported, indicating three MSUs set up beside the wreckage. "All passengers, actually."

She raised her eyebrows. "They all survived?"

He indicated the nearest MSU. "This one's on the brink -- spinal damage. I've ordered a stas unit brought out. I think I can pull the other two through, though one of them's in bad shape. But no, no outright deaths." He paused, glancing around. "Where's your shadow?"

Trust Zhiv to notice the absence. "If you mean my aide, Tacer has gone hiking in the wilderness. He's not fond of agricultural rotation." Lashan had known her chief medic for a very long time -- they'd been in the same training unit. She could tell he wasn't saying everything. "What else, Zhiv?"

He hesitated, averting his eyes -- he had never been much of a liar. Zhiv looked tired, but then, medics often did with the violet markings around their eyes. "Um... I'll just say, you better check the middle one, Lashan."

She gave him a long look, then walked over to the middle MSU, nodding politely to the young medic busy with injectors and readouts. Lashan gently pushed aside the opaque film that made up the top and sides of the unit and eyed the patient. Hadn't Zhiv told the sentry they weren't Peacekeepers? This one was dressed like a--

Oh, *frell*.

The Elite were frequently called isolationist with, Lashan thought, some truth. But she'd always made an effort to keep abreast of what was happening outside their tightly guarded region of space.

Not a Peacekeeper. Not even a Sebacean.

For the first time in a very long time, she found herself relieved that most of the Elite were so ignorant about the rest of the universe.

"Highest classification, Zhiv," she said softly. "I'll come with you back to base and unseal the Vault's medical section. If the robots have been doing their jobs, it'll be in good order. I don't want *anyone* finding out about this."


	2. ** 1 **

While Zhiv rallied the medics, getting all his patients properly dispersed around the section, Lashan took the opportunity to head to the little command center and make sure the computers were fully functional. She'd never even had much occasion to use a shipboard Vault before, much less one planetside. Agricultural rotation wasn't supposed to be like this. It was supposed to be boring. She was supposed to be able to sleep through the night, frell it...

The Vaults were leftovers of a past Lashan would have been just as happy to leave behind, although of course back in *those* days they'd been for the use of Makers, not mere captains. But there weren't any more Makers, and so their dictatorial authority over divisions had passed down to the captains -- along with such tidbits as extensive discretionary facilities for activities a captain might not want to share with the entire division or crew complement. No, the Vaults were definitely not something that promoted their further development as a culture and society.

Could be frelling useful, though, she conceded.

Sighing, Lashan started up the Vault's separate computer system. Thankfully, it was starting blank, saving her the trouble of trying to erase and reformat some previous captain's secret arrangements. //Given the other captains who rotate through here... Makers, it would probably have been Iber Scevel's contraband alien prostitutes.// She shuddered to think what he might have left on the computer about that. But mercifully, Iber was far too discreet to leave any sort of records lying where anyone -- well, multiple people -- might accidentally access them; the records would be safely hidden in personal datafiles... //Records? What am I thinking?!// Lashan attempted to block the images she'd inadvertently summoned. The *important* thing was, the Vault's previous user had courteously wiped the computer. She would just be sure to do the same.

She programmed the system to accept her DNA, retinal scan, and voiceprint as the current captain. Next, she linked to the main garrison computer to copy identity profiles for Zhiv and the medics assisting him, and grant them varying degrees of access -- not to the 'captain's files,' but Zhiv at least got just about everything else. She might need some technicians and guards, later, but that could wait. //Oh, and I'd better--// She added Tacer's profile to those with access.

That covered the soldiers who would be inside. She'd have to have Zhiv scan in the patients before she turned on the internal security system. If she turned on the internal security system. //Frell, I'm not some Maker who needs to fear my own troops--//

Lashan rubbed her eyes. She was dodging the real issue, of course. *What* was she going to tell Central Jurisdate? She'd be handing them an impossible situation, and she *knew* it was impossible. It was as if she'd found the... the Crystal Rod of the Feuding Makers. Like the garrison who'd found the Rod, Central Jurisdate couldn't do anything with... her find... without attracting the attention of combatants they would really rather avoid.

Like finding the Crystal Rod. Or the lost ship Rahs. Or wormhole tech.

//Oh, yes.//

She forced herself to her feet. She needed to get back to the medical section and check on Zhiv and his patients. //Before I convince myself that the best thing to do is crawl under my bunk.//

Zhiv was fine, and handling the Vault's medical systems with aplomb. Some of the other medics seemed more captivated by the Vault itself, but Zhiv wasn't complaining, so Lashan held her piece. The most severely injured patient -- a Nebari, of all things -- was evidently already in stasis and so could be safely ignored for the moment, though obviously there would be work required before she could be taken *out* of stasis. Zhiv seemed about half done diagnosing the middle patient -- the trouble patient -- and was directing one of his assistants in configuring the ierogetic tube, all the while never taking his eyes from the diagnostic scanners. The third patient had been left to the other medics, one of whom was wielding a skinsealer with such an expression that Lashan *had* to look and see what was the matter with the patient. Careful to avoid getting in the way, she circumnavigated the room to peer over the young woman's shoulder.

//Oh, Makers be frelled.//

If she hadn't been a dedicated atheist, Lashan would have decided the deities had something against her. Not only did she have to figure out what to do with the most hotly contested brain in the Uncharted Territories, but she was required *at the same time* to deal with an Interion.

//I think I'm going to go inspect the salvage operation.// Ignoring Zhiv's dirty look, Lashan fled.

# # # # #

"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!"

John had definitely had worse wake-up calls, but most of them involved people inflicting pain on him in various inventive ways. This time, he felt detached, wrapped in gauze and insulated from all the pain he *knew* he should be feeling, but he was *sure* his eardrums were about to shatter. Wincing, he tried to cover his ears only to be brought up short by some sort of straps pinning his arms to his sides... //Where am I? Oh, God...//

Mercy. There was a sharp *smack* of skin on skin and Jool's scream was cut off.

"Frelling Interion slawa," an unfamiliar voice said, over the muffled noises. "I *told* you--" Some rustling, and even the muffled whimpers ceased. John started to struggle in earnest.

He also had time to take stock of his situation. He was pinned to a bed or table by wide, unyielding straps at his forehead, shoulders, chest, waist, knees, and ankles. He was covered in a thin silverish blanket and inside some sort of strange tube, probably a scanning device or... something. The whole scene was illuminated in an eerie greenish glow from the tube. There were several hi-tech IVs sticking into his joints, a helmetlike thing on his head, and all in all enough unidentifiable things to throw John into a full-fledged panic.

There was more cursing from the voice which had silenced Jool, and some equipment clicked. Microts later, as his vision began to blur, John realized his captor had probably been adjusting the content of the IVs. He was helpless to keep from sliding back to sleep.

# # #

When John awoke again, he was still in the tube, but the lights had changed to blue. Or maybe it was a different tube. This time, he stayed still, hoping to avoid sedation. He still felt no pain, and someone was doing something to the helmet-thing on his head.

Taking it off, in fact, and carrying it away. John breathed a sigh of relief before the footsteps returned in his direction and he tensed again.

There were a few clicks, and then the tube slid out of his vision and he was blinking against a cool, normal light and looking up at a ceiling. It was dark blue.

It was also rather dull. Fortunately, the head restraint had been removed with the helmet-thing, and John was able to turn his head to look at the man who was even now passing a hand-held scanner unit over the length of the bed... table... whatever.

The man looked Sebacean... sort of. A Sebacean with weird tattoos, maybe -- like a purple crescent, outside each eye, pointed inwards, almost presenting a raccoon appearance, a long green stripe slanting across one cheekbone and a shorter across the other, and a blue stripe along about half the length of the nose. It reminded John of gang symbols, or tribal markings... except it wasn't paint, and it didn't even quite look like tattoos. Then there was the hair, which looked more like fur, in a sort of reverse Dalmatian pattern, white spots on black. So, even before he looked at the uniform -- dark blue, not black or red -- he knew they weren't Peacekeepers. That was something, anyway. And what little of the room he could see looked like a medical facility. The last thing he remembered was collapsing on the deck of the stolen Marauder, relieved that they at least seemed to be getting away. What the frell had happened?

Since the man had to know he was awake, John spoke up, wetting dry lips. "Where am I?"

The man put away the scanner before replying. "The permanent residents call it Sarac. It's an agricultural world, generally very quiet."

John was sure D'Argo or Chiana or Aeryn could have figured out a lot from those statements, but his mind was racing so fast it couldn't seem to get a purchase on anything. //Would have been more help if he'd been a little more specific -- I'm betting this isn't a local Saracoid charity hospital.// Naturally, he'd never heard of Sarac. "Where are the people I was with?"

"We recovered two others from the crash," the man -- medic? -- said. "They're both in this facility."

Well, that accounted for all the people who were in the Marauder. //Crash. How did we crash? Don't tell me Pip let Jool fly the frelling thing...// Leave it to their crew to frell up the escape as badly as the mission. "I heard one of them, earlier--"

"The Interion." The medic made a face. What with all the facial markings, the result was very interesting. "I imagine half the continent heard that."

"Probably. What happened to her?"

"Not a lot." The medic evidently became absorbed in examining computer readouts. "She wasn't severely injured, but when she regained consciousness she became... agitated. We had to sedate her to stop the noise."

//That's Jool, all right.// "Okay. So... who are you? This doesn't exactly look like a farming planet's ER and top doc..."

The medic blinked, but ignored the Earth references. "My name is Zhiv Awere. I am a medic. This is a medical facility." Well, maybe he hadn't ignored them. "Sarac is not a typical agricultural world. Whoever was piloting the Marauder seems not to have noticed the Elite claim and interdiction beacon in orbit..."

//Oh, frell. Peachy. We're busted for high trespassing.// He'd never heard of the Elite, but judging from their name, he'd probably could have happily done *without* hearing about them. "Ah. The Elite."

Zhiv smiled, or at least his mouth twitched. "I'm afraid I'm not up to explaining the Elite to someone from the opposite side of the galaxy who knows nothing about us."

//Another bluff busted before it -- waaaait a minute--//

"I know who you are, Crichton, more or less," Zhiv continued. "Isolationist or not, a few of us do check wanted beacons occasionally. I'm not one of them, but they tell me about all the interesting things. And you certainly fit into that category." He'd moved out of John's sight and was doing something that involved computer beeps and more soft clicks. "I understand half the Territories are after your brain."

//Frell again!// "This ain't lookin' like a very good day," John said conversationally. "So what happens next?"

"Next I unhook you from this equipment and move you to a recovery room," Zhiv said. "And no, you can't walk. I think you'll find that you feel much better when horizontal. You weren't the most severely injured, but you certainly had the greatest *variety* of injuries. I'd ask what the frell happened, but I'm under orders not to bother you about it right now."

Which was just fine with John. Except... "Who... *is*... hurt the worst?"

The medic hesitated, another bad sign. "A Nebari," he said finally. "She's in critical condition, but not beyond hope."

//Oh, frell, Chiana...// "Can I see her?"

"Not, I think, until you are in somewhat better condition yourself." Zhiv began unhooking the equipment. John still had no idea what most of it did. "But I will keep you informed about her condition, and you can see the Interion after you're moved to the recovery room. Assuming you want to see the Interion."

"Um, yeah... speakin' of Jool... just what happened to get her *agitated*?"

The medic half-smiled again. "I'm afraid that unlike you, she *has* heard of the Elite."

# # #

Whatever it was about the Elite that made Jool scream, they didn't treat their *patients* badly. The recovery room was small, but had room for a bed, a small table, and an array of monitoring equipment. No windows, but then again, no restraints on the bed. John didn't know if the door was locked -- so far he'd barely managed to sit up, never mind attempt escape. This made him all the more grateful for the bed's real mattress, and the fact that he had clothes, even if the clothes *were* baggy light blue pajamas. At least the Elite didn't share Earth hospitals' paper gowns.

He still hadn't seen any Elite besides Zhiv, who seemed to play the roles of doctor, nurse, and medical technician all at once. He had heard another voice over a comm once, replying to Zhiv's complaint about the meals getting sent down. The unknown other had told Zhiv to come up to the commissary himself if he wanted to be picky.

After three conscious days -- there was no attempt to disorient him with regard to the passage of time -- he finally heard more people nearby.

"All right, Zhiv, here she is. I suppose you're going to want me to stay here."

"That would be appreciated, yes... was the tape really necessary?"

"Yes."

Under the conversation, John heard a steady, muffled whimpering, and he tried to raise his head, then groped for the lever to raise the head of the bed. They had to be bringing in Jool.

"Look, you ninun, I already told you we're just bringing you to see your friend... stop kicking! You'd think she'd realize it's not having any effect... We had to take her shoes away. Frelling Interions."

Jool was half-dragged, half-carried into the room by Zhiv and another blue-uniformed Elite. The second Elite was female, had reddish-brown hair and a different pattern of facial markings -- her crescents were fainter and one of the green stripes was missing, to start with -- and looked *very* exasperated. Jool was dressed in the clothes she'd been wearing on the Marauder, less the shoes, but had a patch of tape over her mouth. She was still whimpering, which turned into a sort of squeak when she saw John.

"Princess," John greeted her. "How ya doin'?"

Her reply, as the Elite released her and she threw herself at, and on, John, came out something like "Mmmmmpphhhhh!!!" Then there was another muffled squeak as Zhiv hauled her off.

"You will kindly not put any weight on my patient's chest," he said. "Shall I get a chair? Shahin can stay here..."

He was interrupted by the other Elite. "Frell no. I'll find a chair and you can stay here and watch her. I've been doing it enough already, thank you very much Zhiv. Dump the Interion on me, will you..."

Zhiv watched her leave with equanimity, then turned back to John and Jool. "Feel free to remove that tape," he said. "Unless you prefer it, of course."

Jool gave him a killer look before pulling off the tape with a wince. "I hate that Elite tralk!" she snapped, her voice dangerously high-pitched, then cast another look at Zhiv, this one wary. She sidled closer to the bunk. "I can't believe this. I can't *believe* this! If I'd known this was an Elite planet, I never would have landed at all!"

"So you were flying...?" //What the frell was happening?// "Never mind, that can wait. Are you okay?"

"Apart from being held captive by these *barbarians*--" Behind her, Zhiv rolled his eyes.

"Princess!" John said. "Chill! What precisely makes them barbarians?"

Jool blinked at him as if he'd gone crazy -- well, crazier. "These are the *Elite*!"

"That's great, Princess! I've never heard of them before." John lowered his voice, hoping to make the conversation a bit more reasonable and keep Jool from going into complete hysterics. "All I've seen is that they *have* given us medical attention. Now, you wanna tell me just what about them terrifies you so much?"

The Interion shot a furtive look over her shoulder at Zhiv, who was now pretending to examine a console. "Crichton, they exterminated an entire species!"

In response, Zhiv merely murmured, "Interions."

//Well, obviously they didn't exterminate Interions--// This was getting too complicated. "Um... details, Princess?"

"The Ashkren. They were our allies." Jool shot another wary look at Zhiv. "The Elite were their allies, too, but they turned on them--"

There was a cough from the Elite present. "I'll leave the history lesson for later, but I would like to say right now that that's not *anywhere* near the whole story." He leaned on the wall and ran a hand through his hair. "But please, go ahead. Tell your version."

The interruption, though, had evidently made Jool reconsider -- probably Zhiv's intention in interrupting. //Whether or not Jool's right, I *really* wonder what these guys are up to.// And what they intended to do next.

No point in dwelling on it. "Okay, Jool. Stay calm. So why were you flyin' the Marauder in the first place?"

"Chiana was trying to repair the hetch drive or something," Jool replied in a whisper. John decided not to tell her he was pretty sure Zhiv was catching every word she said. "It was damaged when some Prowlers pursued. Ah -- um -- Aeryn drew them off, destroyed one of them, but our drive was hit and Chiana said something about hull stress before we went down..."

One part of that immediately captured his attention. "What happened to Aeryn?"

Jool grimaced. "How am I supposed to know? Chiana just said Aeryn had drawn them off, then yelled at me to fly while she looked at the damage. Then she said to go to this planet and land."

//Hull stress.// The Marauder must have been on the verge of decompressing for Chiana to be so desperate. She'd been present at Jool's last disastrous piloting attempt... //Don't even go there, Johnny.// "So you went to the planet..."

"And tried to land. I found a large flat space, but... the landing wasn't... smooth. I was knocked unconscious when I hit my head on the controls after we rolled over." Jool looked worried and a little guilty. "I think Chiana wasn't strapped in."

//Rolled over? *Rolled over*?// "You *rolled* the Marauder?" John asked incredulously. How the frell had she managed that?

"Not on purpose!" Jool objected. "And it was... just a little roll."

"Princess, a Marauder's too big to do just a *little* roll. I don't believe this."

"In her defense," Zhiv murmured, "she did manage to avoid the pfalln orchard."

Jool glared. "I didn't ask for your help!"

The Elite shrugged. "Sorry." He wasn't sorry at all. "You just seemed to need it. I understand the Marauder rolled about ten and a half times. Tore up quite a bit of rjelln."

Both John and Jool winced. "I'm surprised we weren't hurt *worse*," John said.

"Me, too."

"Oh, shut up!" Jool spat at the Elite. "Who knows what they're going to do with us now..."

"Princess?" John said. "I think you're just gettin' on his nerves. Let's try to avoid that if they're as dangerous as you say." Escape was out of the question at the moment, since he couldn't walk and they didn't know where Chiana was. They were stuck with the Elite for a while. It seemed only fair to return the courtesy they'd received. Or he'd received, anyway. They seemed to like Jool as little as she liked them.

Jool did subside. A little. "They're certainly dangerous! Not even Scarrans or Peacekeepers enter their space uninvited. And no one is ever invited. Outside a few traders, maybe."

"Uh, Jool? We *like* that."

The Interion sniffed. "Peacekeepers and Scarrans avoid Nebari space, too."  
"Now *that* I resent," Zhiv muttered. "Where has Shahin gone for that chair? Orbit? And the major powers don't generally enter our space not because of what happens to a few examples, but because we give them no reason to." He eyed them, an unreadable expression on his face. "Easier said than done, I can tell you."

When Shahin finally came back with the chair, an innocent expression on her face, Zhiv announced that visiting hours were over -- the patient needed to sleep, and the doctor needed an analgesic for cranial pain. John was left alone to wonder about the Elite, Chiana's condition, what had happened to his other friends, and Aeryn.


	3. ** 2 **

~~To Central Jurisdate~~

Well, there was one line, anyway.

# # # # #

The Elite nurse, or assistant doctor, or whatever, had given Jool some sort of fruit and bread roll-up for lunch. Jool was eying it with distaste, John with envy. He had been given a very tasteless nutrient shake and had slurped it down at once. Zhiv had been very vague about the exact nature of his injuries, but evidently the healing made him hungry. They *were* giving him plenty of the awful drinks... but they were spacing them out, too. At least he was off the IVs.

A routine of sorts was beginning to emerge. He could sleep as long as he wanted in the morning, but when he woke up he got a nutrient shake. Zhiv would run some tests which usually took at least an arn. Then John got a bath and shave, another nutritional drink, and had to sleep, or pretend to, until midday. (The Elite replacement for the sponge bath was a dunk in a long shallow trough of some sort of cleanser fluid, dressed or undressed, then getting rinsed off with a handheld sprayer and blown dry. The only thing to be said for the procedure was that it was better than a sponge bath.) Usually Jool would visit at lunch and stay for a few arns, unless she was sedated again. Zhiv *said* that Shahin was trying to do the sedation less, but he hadn't specified how hard she was trying. After Jool left, another nutrient drink and another nap...

There was certainly enough of a routine to make discussion of the day's events very boring. Zhiv still wouldn't say anything about Chiana's condition and was resistant to any conversation -- and Jool certainly wasn't going to talk to any of the Elite.

"So Jool," John said at last. "Tell me about these... Ashkren." John glanced at Zhiv. //Maybe that'll get a reaction out of him, anyway...//

Jool, too, looked at Zhiv. "They were a very civilized people," she said. "In some ways they may even have surpassed Interions."

Zhiv muttered something unintelligible under his breath. John suspected he could guess at the gist of it.

Jool either didn't notice or didn't care. "Very advanced in all the sciences. Especially medicine. Diagnosans used to train with them." She looked around the room and shuddered. "All of this technology was probably stolen from their ravaged cities."

Zhiv seemed to be grinding his teeth.

"And they were a very peaceful people," Jool continued. "They would do anything to avoid war."

"Wrong," Zhiv snapped. "They would do anything to avoid *fighting*. No Ashkren were killed in battle for hundreds of cycles."

"Until *you* attacked them," Jool retorted. "Then they died by the thousands."

The Elite's eyes darkened. "Not before time," he bit out, and left the room.

John hadn't ever seen that much emotion from Zhiv. "Well. Jool, in the future, could you maybe not needle them so much?" He sighed and took another swallow of the nutrient drink. "They haven't hurt us, and I'd kind of like to keep it that way."

"But what are they going to *do* to us?" Jool asked.

"I don't know." John looked at the empty doorway, listening to the sounds of Zhiv angrily rattling equipment. "I really don't think they do, either."

# # # # #

~~To Central Jurisdate

~~I regret to inform you that I~~

No.

~~It is my unpleasant task to give you the news~~

No.

~~With deepest regret I~~

//Is this a report or a death notice? Frell it all...//

# # #

Zhiv adjusted the rate of exchange on the replicator tank. "I think you should talk to them, Lashan. Soon."

Lashan eyed the long nerve bundle floating inside the tank, slowly growing, and did not immediately reply. "This tissue looks pretty healthy, to my uneducated eyes. Are you going to attempt a graft?"

He nodded. "The spinal graft isn't the only treatment I want to finish before we take her out of stasis, though, just the most major." They both looked over at the stasis tube and the Nebari inside. Like most stasis patients, she looked somewhat dead. "I won't be able to make a prediction of the outcome until her body starts reacting to the treatment, out of stasis. Now, are you going to discuss history or will I have to?"

"I doubt the Nebari would be a very attentive audience..." Lashan sighed. "I suppose the Interion has been giving their version?"

"Yes. It's been all I could do to keep from interrupting."

The Interion's rendition had no doubt been highly melodramatic and strongly condemning. Naturally it would make Zhiv -- who had a well-developed conscience -- twitch. Lashan had made herself study Interion historical accounts until she didn't get upset any more -- just wearily resigned. There was truth in them. Too much. //Although not the whole truth, of course... if the Interions ever knew the whole truth, they chose to forget it.// "You could just ask them not to blame us for the crimes of our progenitors," she said finally.

"Our progenitors' *crimes* were vastly exaggerated!" Zhiv protested. "That Interion said we were *allies* with the... Ashkren. She accused us of genocide. No mention of the circumstances. We didn't even kill all of them!"

She raised her eyebrows. "You realize you do sound pretty guilty. Making excuses and all that. I don't know if *I'd* believe you."

"Well, what am I supposed to say?" Zhiv demanded helplessly. "I don't have the benefit of ignorance. I *know* some bad stuff happened back then, that a lot of people died that didn't have to, and some of them were -- Ashkren. But I refuse to call them innocent victims, and I shouldn't be blamed for something I never did."

Lashan shook her head. "Obviously, no one's gotten over it, no matter how long it's been. I'll discuss it with them -- but not yet. Just point out it was outside our living memory."

"Not outside some people's," Zhiv muttered. "And why won't you talk to them now?"

She wandered across the lab to lean on the outer casing of the ierogetic tube. Zhiv must be distracted -- he didn't snap at her not to. Lashan stared at the closed door of the recovery room. "Because... I haven't even decided what I'm going to tell Central Jurisdate." //And I'm halfway positive they would rather I broke procedure and *didn't* tell them. Plausible deniability and all that.// Frelling Crystal Rod... "And I didn't say that."

Zhiv opened his mouth, closed it, and returned to an intense study of the spinal culture. "I'm not even going to try to answer that one. I just hope Tacer gets back soon, so you have someone else to complain at." He shook his head. "Frelling *peaceful* Ashkren..."

Lashan raised her eyebrows. "That *is* stretching it a bit." She rubbed her eyes. "I'm going to try to compose a message to Central Jurisdate."

"And then you'll talk to them about history?" Zhiv asked hopefully.

//Too hopefully.// "After I'm done. Or when Tacer gets back -- whichever comes first."

"You're really thinking the little renegade will get back from one of his hikes before you finish your report?" Zhiv asked. "No... don't answer that. I'm sure you'll destroy all my faith in your authority."

"Like you ever had any. And Tacer's not a renegade. He's just... just..." Lashan searched for a word. "Unusual. Nonconformist. I don't know. But renegade isn't the word."

Zhiv snorted. "He doesn't believe in following orders, Lashan. He's admitted it. More than once."

"Tacer was... not cut out to be an Elite, perhaps," Lashan allowed. All too often she seemed to be defending Tacer from the same -- or very similar -- accusations. "But he's not a renegade. He's just... He's *Tacer*, Zhiv. You've known him long enough to understand that." //Insofar as anyone does.// "Calling names doesn't do *any* good, you know. And if you must, don't call him a renegade. That gets people in trouble these days."

"Well, what did you call him after the mutiny incident with Captain Sarman?"

Ah, yes. That. Old acquaintance -- and perfect recall -- was a double-edged weapon. Knowing Zhiv would call her on it if she lied, Lashan thought back. "I called him an appalling little fiend with the mass-to-intelligence ratio of a Budong, the common sense of an Interion, and the people skills of a drannit. Note, nothing that's also the name of a capital charge." She sighed.

"And as for name calling not doing any good?" Zhiv asked. "And stop leaning on my equipment."

"That was an entirely different case," Lashan replied. "Now, if you'll just excuse me..."

# # #

~~To Central Jurisdate

~~The conflict we have been attempting to avoid has alas crashed down upon Sarac in the form of one of the more coveted~~

No. //Sounds like a bad Interion drama.//

~~It's really too bad we were never after John Crichton, because now we've got him.~~

Too flippant.

~~I don't know what to do. Send help.~~

//Not exactly what they want in reports from their Captains, now is it.//

~~Unauthorized alien landing on agricultural planet. Survivors in custody.~~

A good opening line for a report but under the circumstances completely *useless*! Lashan glared balefully the monitor and wondered if it would be easier to just desert. If only there were some way to quietly conceal the whole incident. But too many people had seen the Marauder come down, and no matter how much they *tried* to keep things secret, information leaked out by osmosis. She was sure the whole garrison knew about the downed Marauder by now. Most of them probably knew or suspected there were survivors. And from all the secrecy, they'd realize that the survivors were not just a couple of Peacekeeper grunts.

~~We have unearthed a second Crystal Rod and are trying to hide it.~~

//Arrrrgghhh...//

"Hey, Lashan! What've you been doing? I go away for twenty days or so and I come back and a Marauder crashed and you've unsealed the Vault!" Tacer heedlessly tossed his camping equipment in the corner of her office and tried to look over her shoulder. "Who do you have in here? John Crichton?"

# # # # #

John awoke to the sounds of, for want of a better word, chatter. It didn't seem very Elite-like. But it was rapidly coming closer. The voice wasn't Zhiv or Shahin.

"...so I guess this has kept you pretty busy, hasn't it? And you say I'm a lot of trouble. Lashan sends you more patients than I ever do--"

"Yes," interrupted another new voice, "but I've never sent him anyone injured when I blew out the main food processor."

The chattering person sounded faintly offended. "I was trying to make a *statement*, Lashan. Don't try to deny that you both agreed the food units had probably been designed by the Makers to torment us."

"Agreed as a *joke*, Tacer..."

"And it worked, didn't it? New food system."

"Because the old one was completely destroyed. Lashan, he's a menace." The door opened and Zhiv walked in. "Hello. You have visitors. How are you feeling?"

"Oh, just moderately lousy, thanks..." John looked at the to Elite who'd followed Zhiv into the room. One was wearing a similar dark blue uniform, though the shoulder patch which he guessed was rank insignia was different. And of course the face marks were different -- he was beginning to suspect they were unique for each Elite. The second stranger was a little shorter, and wearing a lighter blue one-piece garment that was probably a field uniform. Both of them had white-blond hair with a brown stripe down the middle like a mohawk. "These are?"

Zhiv nodded. "Captain Lashan Estaver and Tacer Rezmarev. Captain Lashan is the commander of this garrison and the ranking officer on planet."

"Meaning I'm in charge," the Elite in the dark blue uniform said.

"I however am just a humble aide," said the one in combat fatigues -- the chattering one. "You're John Crichton? I've wanted to meet you for a while now." Tacer glanced at Lashan and Zhiv. "But maybe I'll be quiet now."

Though Zhiv rolled his eyes, the Captain merely smiled tolerantly. John thought the Captain might be female, but he wasn't sure -- the Elite seemed uniformly flat-figured. "Just for a little while, Tacer," Lashan said. "Look, why don't you go get a shower and a clean uniform and come back. You have dead leaves in your hair." After the 'aide' left, she turned back to John. "So. You're the infamous John Crichton. What should I call you?"

//Infamous?// "'Crichton' will work," he replied. "What am I supposed to call *you*?"

"Since you're not in my command... I think Lashan will do." She sat down on Jool's chair -- backwards, resting her chin on the chair back. "Just as a protocol tip, we generally use personal names rather than... what's family names, for other species. So I'm Captain Lashan, not Captain Estaver. Using the second name is often an insult."

"I'll keep that in mind," John replied. //I wish I were in better shape...// "So... is this a purely social call, or what? And why is your aide so eager to meet me?"

"Well, with regard to Tacer... um... well... Tacer isn't really suited to the military. Which is unfortunate for one of our people, since apart from farming we have no established civilian base." Lashan grimaced. "I'm hoping that will change, but in the meantime Tacer has been investigating noteworthy people outside the Elite, looking for information about the rest of the universe... Unlike most of the others he researched, he decided you were admirable. I suggest you be careful or he'll start acting like you. Tacer sometimes takes emulation a little too far." She smiled. "He'll also start picking up your speech patterns, though that's also because he's linguistically inclined -- thinks about integrating new vocabulary into our miserable language. You probably won't notice, with your microbes, but he also regularly switches what language he's speaking, and picks up new ones very quickly."

"In short," Zhiv said, "he's a frelling nuisance."

It was evidently an old argument, for Lashan merely shrugged. "There is... some merit in that position. But he's good enough when he applies himself. Moving on to the first part of your question, Crichton, it's not purely a social call, although I did think it was about time to introduce myself." The Elite Captain paused. "I'm here to answer some questions which Zhiv hasn't been answering, for a variety of reasons."

The first thought that popped into John's head was that he was not usually the one asking the questions. //This is very strange.// "Okay... So, how's Chiana?"

Lashan glanced over her shoulder at Zhiv. "I understand the prognosis is... hopeful."

That was not particularly reassuring. "And that means..."

"She's in stasis while Zhiv does some major repairs. Um." Lashan averted her eyes. "Spinal damage and some serious organ damage. Very serious, but it's something we can deal with since we have the proper facilities and sufficient time."

John nearly choked. "Spinal damage?! She's goin' to be *paralyzed*?" Bad enough for anybody in the UT, but for Chiana, who relied so much on being able to escape and evade...

"No," Zhiv said flatly. "She won't be paralyzed. If the spinal transplant fails, she'll be dead, which I am very much hoping to avoid. But paralysis isn't what we have to worry about."

One shock after another. "Transplant?" John asked carefully. "Where, ah, did you..."

"Find a compatible donor?" Lashan finished, and John wondered just how much of his history she was familiar with. "We didn't, actually. We don't do that. We can grow cloned organs in vats, and needless to say we find that more convenient than looking for bodies." She offered a crooked smile. "I suppose you could come admire the spine-in-progress if you like... but it's not much to look at."

"That... *is* pretty impressive medical technology," John said. And why didn't anyone else seem to have it? //No, wait -- the Peacekeepers could clone paraphoral nerve tissue, but that was a new innovation.// The Diagnosan certainly hadn't had it... Well, Jool had said the late great Ashkren were medically advanced. "You, uh, develop it recently?"

Lashan shook her head, her expression sobering. "We... inherited it. If you're wondering about the... Ashkren, please ask directly. I'm not up for dancing around the subject today."

//Be careful what you wish for...// "Well, since you brought it up..." John licked his lips. "Jool says your people wiped the Ashkren out. Is it true?"

"No," Lashan replied immediately. "They still have several planets, a stable enough population. Just not near here." She hesitated. "Were enough Ashkren killed that it could pass for genocide, yes. I doubt the Interion mentioned that a lot of it happened during their civil war, though."

"You don't seem to like Jool much," John observed. "Not that she can't be a royal pain in the eema, and she's been none too polite, but..."

"No, we don't care for Interions very much, either. Because they were allies with the Ashkren. In a way. She said they almost equaled Interions...? Not true. They surpassed them. By far." The captain abruptly got to her feet. "The way Zhiv thinks of your friend doesn't have much to do with her. Our dislike of Interions was transferred from the Ashkren. It's... a very, very long story."

She looked tense and unhappy, but she wasn't leaving the room. John wondered whether to press her. "I'm not exactly goin' anywhere." //She knew what Jool said. They must be monitoring.//

"True." Like an unconscious gesture, she began rubbing one of the lines on her cheek. "Our relationship with the Ashkren goes back a very long time. As far as it can. They created us." Lashan held up a hand. "I don't mean a client-state arrangement like they had with the Interions. They sat down in a lab somewhere and designed our DNA parameters. That's why we don't call them Ashkren, usually -- we say Makers, and it... is not a term of... endearment." She paused. "We -- the Elite -- weren't the first -- there wouldn't have been anything to be Elite from if we had been. I'm not making sense. But the Ashkren designed the first of our precursors, the first Generated, at least a hundred cycles before our first progenitors -- the first who could properly be called Elite. Not that all of us who are lumped under the name Elite now are descended purely from the Elite then, it's much more accurate to say Generated... But that's not what I'm talking about."

John was starting to get a guess where this was going. //This is altogether too 'Wrath of Khan' for my liking,// he thought glumly. "So, just makin' sure I'm understandin' this right... you were all genetically engineered? Eugenics?"

Lashan cocked her head, frowning. "Sorry, give me a microt..." She closed her eyes, then opened them and returned her attention to John. "I'm sorry. We have a very limited basic language. That word didn't immediately translate -- we've gotten pretty good at interpretation. If I've interpreted it right, no. We -- our progenitors and all the other Generated -- were not improved Ashkren. We were an entirely different species. They... deliberately used as little of their own DNA as possible in order to distance themselves. We were not supposed to replace them." For a microt, her expression grew very dark. "Just do their dirty work."

She started pacing the room, head down. "The Interion was telling part of the truth when she said they were 'peaceful.' Ashkren hated fighting. They hated the idea of killing and they certainly weren't willing to send their children to war. So they created the perfect soldiers, strong and loyal and not very creative, raised them in creches -- think a Peacekeeper childhood, maybe -- and sent them off to do the killing and the dying. It worked so well they kept specializing, improving the perfect soldiers until they came up with the Elite. Our progenitors."

//Interesting how she always says progenitors, never ancestors. Fits with the rest of the jargon, I guess.//

"We served them very well." Lashan's tone intensified. "We fought for them and we *won*. The Elite won battles against the Scarrans, the Peacekeepers, some other species you've probably never heard of because there's not a lot left of them -- we used to get accused of genocide there, too, even though we weren't the ones giving the orders and we weren't the ones moving into the emptied territory..." She face twisted and she stared, unseeing, at the wall. "There are five planets which we give protection to because our progenitors wiped out their defenses. And no one questioned. We *should* have questioned. The only excuse I can give is that the Makers were careful not to expose them to any moral value other than loyalty."

There was a long silence. "So what happened?" John asked finally. "What sparked the rebellion?"

"The civil war," Lashan answered quietly. "They started killing each other, they ordered us to kill other Makers, they ordered us to kill each other. It was incongruous enough that people... started to question. Finally. So when the Crystal Rod incident arrived, the troops said *no*, and the Makers realized their greatest fear had come to pass -- loyalty was fragmenting, mutiny was a possibility -- and they started exterminating any Elite, precursors, Infiltrators, Servers -- frell, even Agricultural -- *any* Generated they could catch."

"And then it was war," John finished

"And then it was war. I think the progenitors did reprisals for a while. I know records say things got very ugly after the creches in Region Four..." Lashan trailed off. "We didn't exterminate the Makers, but we very deliberately and systematically eliminated them as a spacefaring power. To ensure our own survival." She walked to the door. "I have... a lot to do, but for future questions I'll leave Tacer down here..."

"Oh, no," Zhiv muttered.

Lashan ignored it. "I won't guarantee Tacer will stay on-topic, but he will be honest with you. And Zhiv, you can put up with him for however long this takes. He's not a kid anymore."

"Sure, but has anyone told him...?"

"I'll catch him before he gets down here," Lashan said. "I'll say, 'Please do not distress my chief medic, Tacer. We wouldn't want him to have a fit of anxiety.' Now if you'll excuse me, I really have to work on that report."

# # # # #

//Let's keep this simple. Basic sentences. Original language wherever possible.// That was certainly one way to force simplicity... the Makers who designed it intended it to be used only by grunt-soldiers. //And no words an outsider would immediately recognize even if they *did* intercept the signal.//

~~To Central Jurisdate

~~Nine solar days ago a (Peacekeeper) Marauder made an emergency landing on Sarac. Survivors were apprehended and treated and the Marauder was given over to Salvage. No resistance was offered. Survivors from the crash were not Peacekeepers; we learned that the Marauder had been stolen. Further investigation revealed that one of the survivors is a very well known repository of wormhole data. Concealment program in progress, but there is uncertainty over its probability of success. Requesting orders and advice.

~~Captain Lashan Estaver~~


	4. ** 3 **

"I don't care what she told you," Jool hissed. "I still don't trust them."

John sighed. He had persuaded Zhiv to lower the dosages of the drug cocktail, but that evidently included the painkillers and he had a *terrible* headache. "I didn't say I *trusted* them, Jool." //I have no idea *what* they're up to.// "I was just saying they aren't quite the barbarians you seem to think they are. Compared to a lot of people out here..."

"You can't let a little free medical care blind you to their true natures!" Jool snapped back. "Maybe they didn't get that way by choice, but they're still as militaristic as the Peacekeepers."

That was undeniable. Lashan had *admitted* they didn't really have any civilians. //Maybe it *is* the medical care, and I'm just enjoying being in something resembling a hospital. Letting it blind me.// "Look, Jool... I don't know. Even assuming you're right, what do we do? We can't do anything until Chiana's... better. These people are the only ones who can help her. We don't know our way around, we don't know how to find a ship, which even if we did we might not be able to fly, and as you pointed out we're pretty much in the middle of a military base. I think the only hope we have of getting out of this is negotiation."

Jool smiled sweetly. "This *is* a military, Crichton. Probably after the same thing as all the other militaries. And they know who you are."

"Don't give them any ideas, Princess..." John let his head fall back onto the pillow. "Think I haven't thought of that?"

Honestly, he'd been trying *not* to think about it, because they hadn't said or done or tried anything yet, and he didn't want to risk letting slip that they were wasting their best opportunity to make him cooperate. //Right after I woke up, for starters, when I was all muddled and had no idea what was happening...// He wouldn't have been able to fight off any sort of mind-scanner then, and probably not even a determined questioner. And even now, with Chiana completely at their mercy...

"Maybe we'll be lucky," he said finally. "Maybe not. My point is, right now we can do nothing about it, so will you stop treatin' Zhiv like that? He seems like a guy to take the whole Hippocratic Oath thing seriously, and you don't need to piss him off."

Jool sniffed.

The whole conversation had started when Zhiv interrupted their lunch to say that Chiana's spinal tissue graft was ready and they were going to operate soon. Jool had asked how many people Zhiv had experimented on to reach his level of skill. The Elite medic's mouth had opened and closed a few times before he'd turned and walked out without a word. John guessed that the accusation had especially stung due to the Elite's history of being treated as experimental subjects. He'd told Jool as much, but it wasn't having much effect.

//Really, I ought to take it as an encouraging sign about their ethics that they haven't just thrown Jool in a cell.//

"Princess, let me explain the situation," John said finally. "*Disregarding* what kind of people the Elite are--" He broke off as one of said Elite appeared in the doorway. "Ah. Hello, Tacer."

Tacer offered a faint smile. "Hello, Crichton. Can I come in? I brought the tav'rel set."

The box under his arm looked pretty bulky. John wondered just how complicated a board game tav'rel was going to turn out to be. He'd tried explaining chess to Tacer -- Tacer had not only understood quickly, but offered to bring a game of tav'rel, since there was no chess set at hand and, Tacer said, he could never find anyone to play tav'rel with.

"Sure, come on in," John said. "Jool, this is Tacer Rezmarev. He's our... liaison, or guide, or something. Tacer, this is Jool."

"Joolushko Tunai Fenta Hovalis," Jool corrected primly.

"If you say so." Tacer looked around for somewhere to put the box, and finally dumped it in Jool's lap, vanishing through the door with a, "Back in a microt." He returned hauling a small table. As John watched curiously, Tacer repossessed the box, opened it, and began assembling a 3-D, multiple-level game board. "You can play tav'rel with three people... you want in, Joolushko Tunai Fenta Hovalis?"

//Is he actually going to call her that?// John wondered incredulously.

Jool shook her head violently, hair tossing everywhere. "No I do *not*, Elite."

"You can call me Tacer." He dumped a pile of colored polyhedrons on the top level of the board. "In fact, *please* call me Tacer. I really hate the name Elite. I don't even care for Generated. In fact, I think we need a new species name entirely, but if you say that everyone just looks at you like you're in phase flux..." Tacer indicated the polyhedrons. "You pick seven of these. Did Zhiv tell you your Nebari friend is in surgery?"

"Yeah," John said slowly, eying the polyhedrons. //Red, blue, yellow... no way am I taking a polka-dot one... I'll just stick with solid colors.// "You know how it's going?"

"All right, I think. They're still in there working, so the spinal graft went well. Hmm... probably shouldn't be telling you this, but she'll probably be out of stasis in a solar day or so, and if you give Zhiv a hard enough time he'll let you see her." Tacer selected seven polyhedrons himself, picking semitransparent ones, and moved the rest out of the way.

"Um... are these kind of major operations common? I mean, do you know what the success rate is?" John asked hesitantly. It was worth a shot -- Zhiv had been extremely elusive with most of that kind of question, and Tacer was generally a lot more straightforward with *any* question.

Tacer frowned, and shrugged. "I don't know about the rate. Or how common really major things like spinal grafts are. You set the polyhedrons around the edge of the board, no more than three on a level. But more minor transplants happen all the time -- sometimes they'll grow a new organ rather than try to repair the damaged one, it's that reliable -- and I know a couple of people who've had major transplants with no ill effects. Take for example..." He laughed suddenly. "Frell, take Zhiv's eyes. They're his second pair."

"Where did he get them?" Jool asked, in a tone of horrified fascination.

"Out of a replicator tank," Tacer replied. "What did you expect? We only use organs and tissues off casualties in combat situations, when there's no other option. Zhiv wasn't treated until later."

John couldn't help it. "What, uh, happened to the first pair?" he asked.

Tacer hesitated for a long moment. "It was... a while ago," he said at last. "There was a... brief territorial incursion... and some of our people were taken prisoner. My understanding is that they were trying to uncover the extent of our healing abilities, which are... impressive, but not impressive enough to replace what's totally destroyed."

Jool looked disgusted. "You mean someone just captured a bunch of soldiers and started wounding them?"

"Close..." Tacer busied himself with the game board. "They took two training units, not active soldiers. I would appreciate it if you would *not* mention this to Zhiv. He doesn't like to talk about it."

"Can't say I blame him," John muttered. There were some experiences that were better not talked about. //And I should know.// He had to wonder about the future...

He could ask Tacer what his people's intentions were. He might even get an answer. But for the moment, trapped helplessly in a hospital bed, barely able to stand unassisted and waiting on the results of Chiana's operation... he was just as happy not to know.

# # # # #

Aeryn knew she was a prisoner, and knew she was on board a ship. The ship she could tell from the faint vibrations and the low hiss of air circulation. That she was a prisoner was made fairly obvious by being blindfolded and restrained. Now, if only she knew where she was...

If only she could remember how she'd gotten into this situation...

She tried to think back. She'd argued with D'Argo, then separated to track the Marauder's course... //Frell. Elite space.// She should have realized it earlier. If she'd been *thinking* properly, she would have realized it earlier. But who would have thought Scorpius would have his command carrier so close to Elite space? Aeryn had always thought Peacekeeper policy was to avoid stirring up a rikkal nest and leave the little lunatics alone. //Tracking the Marauder. Still wasn't finding a trail. I was about to double back...// Then what? She could remember a blur in front of her, maybe some other ship, then -- nothing. //They captured me, obviously.//

"Is she awake?"

"Yes, sir."

//Maybe they took measures into their own hands,// Aeryn thought grimly. She wasn't sure what to expect. So long as the rikkal nest was left undisturbed, there was minimal danger of being captured by the Elite.

"So. Aeryn Sun, former officer in the Peacekeepers, current fugitive," a voice said. She wished she could see. "You entered our territory in clear violation of warning beacons--"

"I saw no warning beacons," Aeryn snapped. "Who are you? And where am I?"

There was a pause. "I am Captain Iber. You are on board my vessel. And you are not the one to be asking questions, trespasser." He hit her in the face, not hard -- certainly not as hard as an Elite was capable of.

He was holding back. //I do not like being toyed with.// Aeryn set her jaw and said nothing.

"The standard procedure for trespassers is immediate execution." Iber paused again, probably for effect. "We have double incentive to do so in your case, since if the Peacekeepers find you they will doubtless want you back, and we prefer to retain our neutrality. Far better that you not stay here long enough for them to hear anything"

For a supposed Elite soldier, he was certainly being dramatic about this. This sort of... display... was *not* standard operating procedure in any military. "I have clearly not been executed," she bit out. "Are you going to tell me why not?"

Iber hit her again. "You will not speak unless I ask a question!" His voice grew very slightly fainter, as if he'd turned away. "This is *not* cooperative. Medic! I don't think it's working."

The second voice was subdued and conciliatory. "This drug wasn't designed for use on Sebaceans, sir. There was no information on whether it produces the desired effect. And the dosage is always approximate even with Generated -- I could increase the dose, sir, but it could just put her back to sleep."

Wonderful. They'd drugged her. To make her *cooperative*. //I am not feeling very cooperative.// This was looking worse and worse. "Why am I still alive?" she asked, through clenched teeth.

"You may not be for long if--"

"*Because*, *sir*, she may be useful to the project," interrupted a third voice. "I believe that reason takes precedence over all others." There was a tense pause before the third voice continued, more restrained. "Look, obviously you aren't going to get anything out of her on this drug. Ditenufine or something else actually intended for interrogations would be a better choice. Sir, I suggest we let the medics finish, then lock her up until we're ready with the test code. If it seems to be working, we inform Central Jurisdate. If it doesn't... we discuss other tests, procedures... and so forth. Will that work, sir?"

Iber didn't sound overjoyed, but he did acquiesce. "Since this is a scientific undertaking... I yield to your judgment, Specialist Etael."

This was looking marginally better... an operation with two commanders was always unwieldy, and if the two commanders had different goals... //I may get out of this yet.// Of course, Crais and Scorpius had been commanders with conflicting goals, and that had been decided quickly enough. She'd just have to wait and see -- //As if I have any other choice.//

"Thank you, Captain. Would you like to see the code testing procedure we're working on?"

"Ah... no, Etael. Thank you for the offer, I have... other business to attend to." A pair of footsteps retreated rapidly out of earshot.

After a moment, 'Etael' snorted. "Business. Ha. No offense, but I'm going to be glad when this crew rotates out and I don't have to work at getting the captain's attention back to our actual assignment... Every rotation he's here, he drives me *insane*."

Another pair of footsteps departed. A few microts later, the medic said in a very soft voice, "You think *you* have problems, Specialist? Try being under his command *every* rotation, then you'll know what a *problem* is..."

# # #

Two soldiers escorted Aeryn, still blindfolded, down a number of corridors and through enough turns that she didn't think she could retrace her steps -- //Not that I'd want to retrace my steps// -- back to the medbay. Finally, they removed the hand restraints, opened a door, took off the blindfold and propelled her through the door into a cell. Neither of them said anything the whole time.

The cell was small and predictable. Aeryn took the opportunity to stretch out abused muscles, ate the supplied food, and sat back to try to figure out where the mission had gone wrong.

//When the plan was made, that's where.// It had been frelled from the very beginning. She should never have gone along with it. But when Crichton had asked if she'd had a better idea, she'd had to admit she didn't. As it was, they were lucky to have gotten away. At least, she hoped the others had gotten away. Aeryn knew she'd led the other Prowlers away from the Marauder, but there was no guarantee that more hadn't come and anyway she wasn't sure how badly it had been damaged. And she didn't know how long Pilot and Moya could wait for them before starbursting. //They must have starburst. They wouldn't -- *can't* have -- waited so long for me that they got captured...// They must have starburst. D'Argo would have told them to. But had D'Argo stayed or left? //He was definitely upset...//

There was no right answer. Renouncing emotion wouldn't keep people from dying because of her -- she couldn't stop them. No matter how hard she tried. It was small comfort that from what she'd gathered, Crichton was too badly injured to attempt some sort of crazed rescue.

//*Why* do I keep dwelling on him? This has to *stop*! I tried emotion and in the end it just brings pain...// Aeryn blinked away tears, and tried to tell herself they were tears of frustration. She just couldn't win. He was always in her thoughts. //And I don't even know which one I mean. Both, frell him!//

She should sleep. She needed to sleep, and prepare for whatever it was these frelling Elite thought they were doing. Aeryn was sure it would be nothing she'd like.

# # # # #

"She's very disoriented," Zhiv cautioned. "The transplant is being accepted so far with no problems, but we still have her immobilized to prevent inadvertent damage. She's been... relatively coherent, though, so you ought to be able to talk to her... although I'd prefer no visitors at this stage..." The following glare was directed at Tacer, who looked innocent. "Try *not* to get her upset." That look was aimed at Jool, who ignored it. "And *stay seated*." That one was for John, propped up in the Elite's wheelchair equivalent and *trying* to look innocent. "All right."

Chiana's recovery room was very much like John's... except filled with medical equipment. Chiana was strapped to a body board on a table in the middle of the room, surrounded by IVs and unidentifiable equipment, covered with a blue sheet to her neck. Jool didn't seem to find it at all remarkable, though. Before John could ask, Tacer guided the wheelchair over to the table. John reached out to touch Chiana's face. "Hey, Pip."

She focused on him, with difficulty. "Crichton," she whispered.

"How ya feelin'?"

"Like dren," Chiana replied. She looked confused. "Where are we?"

"Medical facility," he replied. "The Marauder crashed. You were hurt pretty bad. Princess and I have been worried."

"Hurt..." she murmured, and started to turn her head only to be stopped by the braces. "I thought... Who are these people? The doctors? Where's Moya?"

Well, now they came to it -- he hoped *Chi* didn't flip out at the mention of Elite. "I don't know where Moya is. Safely away, I hope. As for us... the planet we crash-landed on turns out to be claimed by some group that call themselves the Elite. I understand they normally don't take kindly to visitors, and Jool has some very interestin' stories, but they've been treatin' us okay -- and treating our injuries."

Chiana blinked. "The Elite... frell. They're freaky, Crichton." She sighed, and closed her eyes. "Should've seen it though... the marks on the doctors... freaky soldiers have natural rank insignia... no sense of humor."

//Doesn't exactly fit with what I've observed of Tacer, anyway.// "You been here before, Pip?"

"Commerce planet," Chiana replied, still in the same hoarse whisper. "Cycles ago. I mean, an Elite commerce planet..."

Jool looked incredulous. "They have *commerce planets*?"

"Sure they do," Chiana replied, with a ghost of her usual tones. "It was called... I don't know... Shonver?"

"Shonveh," Tacer corrected. "Yeah, we have a few outposts you could call commerce planets. Not interdicted, anyway, so there's some trading. Nothing really big, though."

"Can say that again," Chiana agreed. "Tiny place. *Boring*. But I got... thrown off the ship I was on, stuck there for a while. Had to get some money, but they run... tight security. So I had to earn it." She grinned. "Wanna guess how, Princess?"

John rolled his eyes. "Too much information, Pip," he said, before Jool could react.

"Wait a microt, Crichton. Point is... I met this Elite officer... got him to explain some stuff... frelling freaky guy, though." She made a face. "He tried to convince me to go back to inner Elite space with him, but I'm not stupid..."

There was a sudden snicker from behind John -- Tacer. He had a hand over his mouth, unsuccessfully trying to muffle the laughter. "What was his name?" Tacer asked. "Did he have sort of white-blond hair with golden streaks around the edges? Did he say he'd never met any creature quite like you?"

John raised his eyebrows. "You know the guy?"

"Probably. Um, *if* I'm right, naming no names, his unauthorized alien *guests* are the worst-kept secret in the rotation-jurisdate..." Tacer surrendered to giggles again for a moment. "And the 'never met any creature' line -- he even uses it on Elite. Lots of Elite. Like, half the female complement here... and a few he wasn't sure about..." Given how androgynous most of the Elite seemed, that wasn't entirely surprising, but still...

Chiana was laughing a little, too, painfully. "Doesn't surprise me. He seemed that type. And he did say he'd never met any creature quite like me... Who is this, Crichton?"

"Um, Tacer Rezmarev. He's our... liaison." John looked up over his shoulder at the still-snickering Elite. "Tacer, this is Chiana."

"Pleased to meet -- ow--" Chiana broke off, catching her breath with a gasp of pain. "How badly am I hurt?" she asked.

John sighed. "I'm not sure, Pip, but it's healing. You're gonna be okay."

"And you? Jool?"

"Jool's fine. I'm not quite on my feet yet, but I will be. Don't worry about it, Chi. Just concentrate on getting better."

Chiana frowned. "Crichton, we got any idea what the Elite are planning on *doing* with us?"

"Um... in short... no."

"I can see I'm going to have to recover quickly..." She looked and sounded disgusted.

John hurried on. "Look, Pip, what happened? Jool tried to give me the Cliff Notes version, but not everything was clear. Did we get shot up by the pursuit? How far from the carrier did we make it?" And the question that was really tearing at him -- "Any idea what happened to Aeryn?"

"Well, I don't know... we got followed and shot up by Prowlers." Chiana looked like she would have shrugged had she not been immobilized. "We got a ways away before they crippled us."

"Into Elite space, anyway, I guess," John said. "Seems to have turned out pretty well... for now... rollovers aside."

"*Rollovers*?" Chiana said incredulously. "Jool! How the frell did you manage that?!"

"I'm tired of everyone making such a big deal about it!" Jool snapped. "The Marauder was very badly damaged. I made the best landing I could. And it wasn't that bad!"

"Mmm, actually last I heard Salvage is considering whether the Marauder is worth repairing, so I suppose it wasn't *too* bad," Tacer put in. "I wasn't here to see it, though," he added regretfully. "When I got back they'd even mostly reseeded the gash in the rjelln field. Lashan just said that'd teach me to go off on long hikes..."

Jool eyed Tacer dubiously. She still wasn't sure how to react to him. "You call your captain by her first name?"

"You should hear what she calls me... except it would probably upset you."

"*Back* to the subject," John said hastily. He did not need to hear a list of all the names people had bestowed on Tacer, despite how interesting they would doubtlessly be. "Chiana... what about Aeryn?"

Chiana sighed. "She was fine the last time I saw her. Leading the Prowlers away. She shot a couple that were chasing us. But I don't see why you're still so worried about her after she frelled the mission up completely--"

John blinked. //Where did that come from?// "What are you talking about?"

"Well, if she'd gone in with you like you planned at first--"

"Things would still have gotten frelled up," John said firmly. He didn't need Chiana making derogatory remarks about Aeryn. //She'll give me heartburn...// "But I'll grant it was a really stupid plan. I'll need to come up with a better one."

Just as he'd hoped, that got a laugh out of her. "What you need to do is get me off this frelling board so *I* can make a plan."

Zhiv came in and threw them out before they could discuss any sort of plan. Tacer wheeled John back to the other recovery room, commenting all the while about how tyrannical medics could be. If Jool was inclined to pursue the Aeryn subject after John was back in bed, she couldn't do it with Tacer sitting on the floor trying to build things with the tav'rel polyhedrons. John had to wonder if this was a ploy to give the patient more rest or one of Tacer's normal weirdnesses, but he was grateful, and used one level of the tav'rel board to try to teach Jool checkers.


	5. ** 4 **

"There! See, right there? *That* is an unnatural gene combination."

Specialist Etael sounded unbearably pleased with herself. If Aeryn had been able to, she would have given that -- that arrogant *tech* a good pantak jab, see how much she liked that. She was surrounded by techs, a mixture of medics and 'specialists,' whatever that meant. Unfortunately, every single one of those techs was also carrying a pulse pistol, and Aeryn was securely strapped to a lab table.

Being ignored.

"Ah!" said Specialist Two. "Now I see. But that... is very subtle. Are you certain it's enough to register at all on the scanner?"

"We won't know until we try," Etael replied, still examining some sort of display screen. "But the Makers designed the code to detect subtlety. That's why none of the other keys we've attempted have worked -- too crude. *This* just might be subtle enough to fool it into thinking they've come back."

They were looking at her DNA. She thought. So much of the conversation had been in technical jargon Aeryn wasn't sure *what* the frell was going on. And why her DNA would be the key for *anything*, she didn't know. //Something to do with NamTar?// She shuddered at the thought despite herself, though none of the Elite seemed to notice. Aeryn still avoided thinking about NamTar, about... what had happened. John had been there for her then... //No. Don't think of that.//

The Elite hadn't done anything to her eyes, although she'd seen some equipment that looked suspiciously similar to NamTar's. Aeryn wasn't quite sure what they *had* done -- there had been another strange piece of equipment they held over her leg, which had subsequently gone numb. The whole leg, although the... device had only been at midthigh. Feeling had returned, but there was a deep ache at about the spot where the device had been. It had taken some sort of sample. From the way they were carrying on, it was probably something like bone marrow. Aeryn hadn't asked, and of course they hadn't told her. No one had spoken to her at all since the guards who'd come to get her. One of them had said, with an air of imparting courteous advice, "Don't try to understand them, it only makes your head hurt. Hurt more."

//I probably should have listened to them.// This was so frelling strange...

The pack of specialists was now distributed around the lab, all examining monitors as Etael manipulated some dials and controls. All of them then sat back, waiting expectantly for whatever it was to happen. Some of the medics -- differentiable from the specialists because of the purple crescents around their eyes -- left; of the remainder, only some looked over the specialists' shoulders, some seemed to have other work to do. A woman who was neither specialist nor medic -- her markings were completely different -- stayed near Etael, watching closely, and being ignored. One medic came over to Aeryn, giving her a silent visual inspection.

Finally, Aeryn couldn't take it any longer. "What?"

Blinking, the medic took a step back. "Oh, I hadn't realized no one got a drug yet... I suppose it doesn't really matter to them now, but..."

"What *does* matter to them? What's happening?" Aeryn asked tensely, not really expecting a reply.

"At the moment the coding test." The medic had recovered from the surprise and reached under the table to retrieve a water bottle with a straw. "Here, take a drink. I don't know how long this is going to take. If it doesn't work we'll need more samples to see if it's an error. Given the success rate in the past," the medic added, not really talking to Aeryn, "I probably ought to get a ration pack, too--"

There was a sharp whistle from one of the specialists. "Look at *that*!"

"Dthieker!" another exclaimed.

"Maybe not," murmured the medic, as *all* the specialists started talking.

"I knew it! I told you--"

"--who would have thought it would be--"

"--completely random--"

"--how'd a Peacekeeper end up with this, anyway?"

"--of all the *luck*--"

Etael finally restored order, standing on a console. "All right, I know we're all pleased, this is a major breakthrough. *But* let's not get carried away. Getting through the simulated code is not the same as unlocking Bastarrex. We still have a lot of work to do. We'll need the equipment prepared, units organized, a plan of action." She pursed her lips. "I'll compose a message for Central Jurisdate, and then inform Captain Iber of our progress." That got some sympathetic looks from the audience. "For the rest of you, the assignment is *not* to tell everyone you meet." Among groans and the noise of a dispersing crowd, Etael hopped down from the console. "Hajen, I need to talk to you," she said in a lower voice as the group began to disperse.

Hajen was the non-medic, non-specialist who'd been observing so attentively. "Yes, Etael?"

After looking around as if assuring herself no one -- except the still-ignored Aeryn -- was nearby, Etael spoke in a low voice. "Please note. *I* am speaking to Captain Iber about a potential key. *You* are not." Etael glanced over at Aeryn. "And if she disappears from the ship, or anything else happens to her, before *or* after we try to unseal Bastarrex, I'm going to be very, very upset."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Hajen said coldly.

"You haven't exactly made a secret of your politics, Hajen. And you aren't spending so much time here because you understand even a third of the science." Etael crossed her arms. "Central Jurisdate's policies are not my concern, and it's not my concern how you act on your opinions -- *except* when it interferes with my project. I don't want *any* of your... maneuvers frelling this up, Hajen."

"I think that's Captain Iber's concern, don't you?"

"No. He's captain, but I'm head of this project, and at any rate even he knows better than to let a common *soldier* inject *politics* into *science*. Terrible combination." Shaking her head, Etael turned her back on Hajen and walked back to one of the consoles, entering a few quick codes which caused most of the room's bright monitors to go dark. "He wouldn't give you the license he has if you weren't the only one in the rotation-jurisdate willing to read that text on alien sexual practices."

Hajen got even colder. "I don't know what you're implying."

"I think you do." Etael got out a pair of wrist restraints from a cabinet and came over to Aeryn. "Not that I'm criticizing, you need every lever you can find to get through to Iber... I'm just saying you're not on Central Jurisdate and you should stop acting like it."

Aeryn didn't offer any resistance when Etael locked her hands behind her back after unstrapping her from the table, nor did she speak all the way back to her cell -- though she was a little surprised about the project head taking her there personally, alone. They'd let enough slip in her presence already that she was rather curious about what would be revealed next. It would mean a lot more if she knew anything about Elite politics, of course, but she'd take what she could get. //And this crew is definitely divided. On many levels.// There would be *some* way for her to use that to her advantage.

//I am not going to die here.//

The thought almost surprised her, but she realized it was true. Not when she didn't know what had happened to Crichton, to Pilot and Moya, not when her crewmates still needed her, not when she was captured by these... these *excuses* for soldiers. It simply wasn't an option.

//I am going to survive this.// Aeryn faced the confines of her cell with renewed determination that she was going to get out of it.

# # # # #

Lashan sat in the garrison captain's office and looked rapidly through the day's messages. Manifest of ships coming to resupply, daily status report from the gestation center -- it looked like there was a developing infiltrator, what *fun* -- notification that the five new completed Needler fighters she'd requested were on the way, report from the creches, including a list of kids recommended for special training or transfer which she'd have to look at, briefings on border conditions, notification that somebody had tried to smuggle some recreational drugs in the shipment of refined ores destined for facilities repair, harvest status, a few personal notes, and... nothing from Central Jurisdate. //Frell. They have to tell me *something*, even if it's just to wait for further orders. I don't know what to do!//

She buried her head in her hands and rubbed her eyes. //Why is there never an easy answer?// At least Tacer hadn't caused havoc yet this rotation... //Just means he's due for it. Since I'm keeping a close eye on our... guests in the Vault, it will probably involve... hmm... wild animals?// He'd been lying low for a while after the food processor incident, but that was probably wearing off.

There was a very hesitant chime at the door.

Lashan quickly looked up and made sure everything was in order, then blanked her monitor's screen. It could be anyone coming to see her. She made a point of being in her office, available, for a few arns every day. Well, at least she tried to. It was a lot easier on agricultural rotation, when her job seemed to consist mostly of reading and writing reports, and interruptions were welcome *and* a chance to do something useful. Shipboard the best she could do sometimes was to be willing to talk if someone caught up with her. "Enter!"

The door opened, and no fewer than four people came in. All of them belonged to one of the training units attached to Lashan's command; the one in front was, in fact, the training unit leader, standing extremely straight. The other three looked somewhat... slouched. And two of them looked like they'd been in a fight. "Captain Lashan," the unit leader said. "Training Unit Leader Kiles. Requesting approval of a disciplinary action."

//Oh, dren.// Lashan hated disciplinary action, and for the unit leader to request approval meant it was something out of the ordinary. "Go on, Unit Leader," she said. "What is the action?"

Kiles got even straighter. "Required doses of eztegine, Captain."

Oh. *Oh*. //*Now* I get it.// Excessive formality covering embarrassment... Eztegine was the drug with which the Makers had regularly dosed *all* their creations to keep them from getting distracted by any little... hormonal problems. Naturally such required drugging was dumped right away, but some people had a harder time with distractions than others... Sure enough, the two disheveled trainees were both male, and the third was female. As fond of independence as she was, Lashan approved of eztegine. //Sex impulses, like weapons, should not be issued to those who can't use them responsibly.// "Your reason being?" Lashan asked, sticking to protocol. Kiles got stiffer still, and the other three found their shoes fascinating.

"They have displayed inappropriate and divisive behavior that I believe may be corrected by eztegine," Kiles replied.

Lashan decided not to push it -- and poor Kiles, she had less sympathy for the culprits -- any further. "Approved," she said. "Dismissed. Unit Leader Kiles, stay a moment." After the three sulking trainees left, Lashan gestured for Kiles to take a seat, and adopted a more relaxed attitude. "I'm assuming both males wanted the female?"

Kiles nodded glumly. "Yes, Captain, and Zurie *refused* to make up her mind or even tell them to calm down. It was going on for a while, bothering everyone in the unit -- if we'd been on any duty but agricultural I probably would have ordered discipline just to remove the tension source, but I wanted to give them a fair chance to work it out. They're just a little... entranced by the idea of being in love."

"Brawl break out?"

"No-o..." The trainee unit leader made a face. "They, uh, agreed to meet behind one of the seed sheds at night and settle it by unarmed combat."

Lashan rolled her eyes. "Had they by any chance been watching bad romantic dramas?" The Elite produced almost no art of any form, and even less was formally distributed, but they were voracious consumers of it. Lashan enjoyed music, Tacer had an extraordinarily garish painting of a bar which he carted around with him on all rotations, Iber Sceval was a connoisseur of dancing... more or less... and almost without exception, the training units *devoured* recorded stories. Romantic dramas, unfortunately, at least in Lashan's opinion, were the latest trend.

Kiles flushed slightly. "Well, I don't know about *bad*, but we all -- our unit -- watched one from the databanks recently."

"Ah." //I should make a regulation that anyone who views a bad romantic drama must take eztegine. I really should.// "Well, keep an eye on them. And good choice -- this is exactly the sort of thing we keep supplies of eztegine around for."

"Thank you, Captain." Kiles smiled, not quite so nervously, and left.

Lashan smiled after her -- she had the potential to be a good captain someday -- then checked her monitor again in case Central Jurisdate had sent anything while she was busy. They hadn't, but there *was* another message, flagged as urgent. //Now what could *Iber* have to say that's so urgent? And encrypted, too...// As Lashan worked out the code, she remembered what Iber's assignment was this rotation -- Bastarrex. //Surely not...//

She quickly read the dispatch, which went to all captains in the area and Central Jurisdate. No, Iber hadn't opened Bastarrex. Quite. //But no potential key has ever passed the test program before. And there is no way Iber is going to convince Etael *not* to push ahead as fast as possible. It's her frelling life's work, she won't let anything like politics or strategic considerations stand in her way. Iber doesn't have the moral authority or the *judgment* to convince her she needs to wait.// They should never have let Iber supervise specialists. He wasn't equipped to handle it.

And the news was already starting to spread. They'd just have to hope the Peacekeepers didn't get it -- not likely given how close they'd been to the border lately -- or that they didn't know what Bastarrex was. //Never mind the Scarrans.//

How this was going to affect *her* ongoing dilemma she wasn't sure. It wasn't going to make it any easier, though. It would probably make it harder. Lashan sighed and got up to go give the news to Tacer and the other lucky people who'd get to know.

//Etael must be *delighted*. She must have heard they were thinking of canceling the project. She hasn't dragged a new geneticist over there in over half a cycle. After all, who wanted to work on a puzzle designed to be impossible for us... I wonder how she did it, anyway?//

# # # # #

John had never seen Tacer so pensive. Whereas the young Elite was usually only too happy to talk, that afternoon he'd brought in a collection of music files which he claimed to have selected following John's request for some music, some time earlier. However, it felt less like catching up on a forgotten request than providing an excuse to sit in the corner and frown over a handheld screen. With Chiana under strict orders to rest, and the rest of them under strict orders not to disturb her (or else face the wrath of a medic disobeyed), the absence was very noticeable.

The music -- from multiple civilizations, Tacer said -- was pleasant enough, and Jool even found one of her favorite songs, but John wondered what was going on. //I *have* to keep up with what's happening here.// It had to be serious to reduce Tacer to silence. "Look, um, Tacer..."

"Mmm... what? Sorry. Yes?"

Not only silent, but severely distracted. "You seem a little... uh... unhappy today. Is something wrong?" //Come on, straight answer, straight answer...//

"Not... *wrong*, exactly," Tacer said slowly. "I just got some interesting news, that's all. I really shouldn't talk about it, but I've been thinking it over. It's got Lashan really worried. I don't know if she's overreacting, or being pessimistic, or if I should be concerned... Y'know, actually, I probably could talk to you about it. Anyone coming in here should have the clearance..." Tacer trailed off, frowning again. "Oh, sure. I'll tell you. Just don't go telling..." he waved a vague hand in the air "everyone."

John looked over at Jool, who was humming along with her favorite song, repeating for the fifteenth time. //She must really have missed it.// "I'm all ears."

Tacer blinked at him, then grinned. "I *like* that. 'I'm all ears.' I'll have to remember that. It'll drive Lashan crazy." The smile disappearing, Tacer picked up a handful of tav'rel pieces and let them fall through his fingers. "I'm guessing you've never heard of Bastarrex?"

"No." John waited as the silence -- well, apart from the music -- grew uncomfortable. "What or who is it?"

"An Ashkren base and scientific research center," Tacer replied. "It's carved into an asteroid. It's supposed to be very big and have all sorts of fascinating things inside, but no one's been able to get in since the Maker War." The tav'rel pieces were now being arranged into a circle. "It's sealed with an energy barrier with a... rather clever key to opening it. We figured out what the key was a while ago, but none of the tries to make a key worked."

//Oh, boy.// "Until now?"

"Until now," Tacer confirmed. "Well, almost -- it isn't open, but the code simulation accepted the key. It's very likely that they -- our research team -- will get into Bastarrex very soon. Lashan thinks that's a very bad thing."

"I... assume she has reasons?" John asked carefully. "Like, giant poisonous critters or things that go 'boom'?"

Tacer smiled. "Well... sort of." His expression sobered. "This is kind of going to be a long story. We told you the Makers -- the Ashkren -- were advanced. A lot, most even, of the unusual tech we have, we got from them. But the Makers taught our progenitors the practical, but *never* the theory. Almost all this stuff we use regularly was... prosaic. Necessary equipment on battleships, how to patch up your soldiers -- that's why we have so much medical stuff, we know how to use it. A lot of these things we were never taught how to make; our progenitors had to figure it out from disassembling things already built. There are some things we use which we *still* can't reproduce or understand. With other things we know *how* to make them work, can even build some of them, but we have no idea *why* they work." Tacer shook his head. "I think the Makers thought of a revolt long before our progenitors did."

//Or they wanted robots. They never thought their... creations... would ever do anything without them, so why give them the ability?// John wasn't quite sure where this was going, but it was very interesting.

"Then, during the revolt, they destroyed a lot of technology and information rather than let us have it. And some of our progenitors got really destructive, too." Tacer shrugged. "The end result is, the Ashkren's scientific research, their latest advances, their theories and diagrams, and a lot of their unique technology didn't survive the revolt."

The silence drew out again, even the music gone. Jool had evidently realized something was up and was watching them. John finally ventured, "I'm guessin' there's a 'but' coming?"

"Yes. Bastarrex is the only Ashkren scientific station not destroyed by one side or the other during the revolt. Instead, thanks to its energy barrier -- one of those things we don't know how to make or use -- it has remained completely untouched, still containing all the technology and data it had before the Crystal Rod was ever found -- um, another long story, never mind." Tacer sighed. "But you see my point."

John nodded. "Yeah, I do." It was a combination of Tutankhamen's Tomb and the Rosetta Stone. "You're thinkin' this is goin' to cause some trouble with different Elite... factions? Over... cultural stuff and so forth?"

"Well... yes. That's not the big thing, but yes."

Jool finally spoke up -- John wasn't sure whether to be happy or wince. "I expect the 'big thing' has to do with what's allegedly inside Bastarrex."

Tacer nodded ruefully. "Joolushko Tunai Fenta Hovalis has it right, I'm afraid." He'd said Jool's whole name *again*. "That technology and data are -- theoretically -- very, uh, varied. The data Central Jurisdate is most interested in are genetics -- the records of our progenitors' construction, which gene does what, how to activate or deactivate it, how to change it -- for several reasons. Most of them practical." Tacer grew a bit more enthusiastic. "I mean, we have genetic technology as good as any other species in the area, but we have genetics that are *unnaturally* complex. I think it's like over twice as much genetic material in each cell as the second-highest species we've found, a lot of it inactive but a lot active, and another lot starting and stopping for reasons we sometimes don't see. We've identified less than half of it. Our geneticists *and* our medics really want to get hold of that."

"I can see why!" John said. Jool gave him a *look*, but he returned it. "C'mon, Princess. Surely even you can't begrudge them the technology just to understand their own genetics and physiology."

"Maybe not if it was just for understanding--"

"Which it won't be," Tacer finished. "In fact, I could probably name the first five modifications on ourselves we'd like to make. Modify the entropy gene, and... modify the entropy gene. So I can't think of that many modifications. I could name the first five *projects*."

//Huh. Wonder what the 'entropy gene' is.// Tacer seemed to have thought about it quite extensively. Maybe John should add *Holy Grail* to the Rosetta Stone and King Tut's tomb. "And this is going to be trouble."

Tacer shook his head. "Most of the genetic projects -- at least all the ones that would be tried first -- are no source of dissension for us and no concern for anyone else. That's not the big issue either. If someone wanted to do a major redesign there'd be some serious dren, but that wouldn't happen soon. The issue is the other stuff. The non-biological data." Tacer actually got up and started pacing, looking a lot like Captain Lashan had when she'd related the history of the Elite. "Everyone knows the Ashkren made genetic and medical advances. A lot of that's been preserved, by us or by Interions, Diagnosans, lots of others. Somewhere. They withheld a *lot* more of their mechanical data. Ship drives. Weapons. Some unusual chemicals. Some we've worked out from the finished product. There are more which we haven't."

"You mentioned the reverse-engineering part earlier," John said. "Ship drives and stuff?"

"The ship drives we've made almost no progress with. Most of our ships have conventional hetch drives now. Weapons -- we can make them, but mostly it's a *how-not-why* situation. Well, except relatively simple devices like the needle gun which even *I* understand." Tacer half-smiled but didn't stop pacing. "Some of these things aren't found anywhere else. We've looked, trying to find someone to explain the frelling things. *Nowhere* else."

John got it, finally. "Unique." //And unique is always valuable. Oh yeah.// He suddenly understood the dilemma the Elite faced only too well. //I think I agree with Lashan.//

Tacer was continuing as if he hadn't heard. "That's the mechanical technology. The *technology*, what we're almost sure will be in there. There's research, too, and we know next to *nothing* about that, about what we'd find in there. Genetics, which they deliberately kept from us. And their physics research, which they kept from everyone."

//Physics research... oh, god. Dren. Frell.// "What... kind of physics research?"

Tacer shrugged. "I don't know. Nobody knows. But there's been a *lot* of speculation. And recently, most of the speculation has centered around--"

"Don't tell me," John said flatly. //Rosetta Stone, Tut's tomb, Holy Grail, and Pandora's Box.// "Big and blue and the weapons coup of the Known and Uncharted Territories."

The Elite nodded. "Wormholes."


	6. ** 5 **

Jool looked confused. "But... it's just speculation, isn't it? You don't know that there's anything about wormholes there."

"Yes, but that doesn't make a difference to us," Tacer said softly. "All it takes is for the Peacekeepers or the Scarrans to hear that there might be wormhole information there and they'll be all over the place." He bit his lip. "That's what has Lashan worried. It's also the reason she was so upset about winding up with *you*."

John blinked. "She was upset?"

"She hides it well. And she decided there was no sense in you worrying about it when she didn't know what Central Jurisdate would decide." Tacer stopped pacing and sat on the floor again. "Of course, now I bet she's worrying if Central Jurisdate is ever going to decide *anything*, with all the Bastarrex fuss." He grinned unexpectedly. "Though she'd be thrilled if everyone forgot about you completely in the confusion. Then she'd be free to dump you on a planet outside our territory and try to forget she ever heard of you."

"You mean you're *not* interested in wormholes?" John asked incredulously. He wouldn't mind being deposited somewhere, free to contact Moya and forget he'd ever heard of the Elite, either. //This is too good to be true.//

"Well... Lashan isn't. She thinks that having wormhole tech would be just as bad as having unsealed Bastarrex or -- or you. Lashan says that wormhole tech would make us a threat to the Peacekeepers, the Scarrans, the other major forces, and we'd get attention we can't afford. She says that in an all-out war, we'd lose by attrition if nothing else. She says we can't risk the consequences." Tacer paused. "A lot of people don't agree with her, though."

Definitely too good to be true -- it wasn't. "Includin' the people in--" what was the word-- "Central Jurisdate?"

"Some of them. Some agree with Lashan. We have lots of factions." Tacer sighed. "Too many factions. It's really not a very efficient government. Frell, this is depressing. Can we talk about something else?"

"Not just yet, Tacer," John said. It was time to bite the bullet. "What, in your educated opinion, is goin' to happen to us?"

Tacer wouldn't meet his eyes. "I don't know."

John sighed. Jool muttered, "I knew it."

"Look, I *don't* know!" Tacer repeated. "I told you what Lashan would like to do. That's probably what you want to hope for, all right? Most of the other possibilities are worse. There, I've said it. Are you happy now?"

"What's the worst case scenario?" John asked morbidly.

Tacer looked more and more uncomfortable. "It's hard to define that."

"Try." That was an *extremely* obvious dodge. "In your opinion."

"If you *must* know, there is a remote possibility you could be surrendered to the Scarrans." The Elite seemed to be mesmerized by his own boots. "Want more? The Peacekeepers are more likely than the Scarrans. You could be sent farther into Elite space so *we* can try to access the wormhole information. You could be killed outright to eliminate the wormhole information. Or, in what seems the most likely outcome at the moment, you could be stuck here in the Vault forever and ever while Central Jurisdate argues about it, then forgets you and goes on to other business." Tacer snorted and closed his eyes. "Take your pick."

Talk about your litany of horrors... John felt sick to his stomach. Peacekeepers, Scarrans, Elite, or death. He knew he'd choose death over the Scarrans or Scorpy again. The Elite were still largely unknown to him. Tacer, Zhiv, and even Lashan seemed all right, but they *admitted* many of their compatriots were a lot worse. //Are you a good Elite or a bad Elite...?// "What about Jool and Chiana? If that happened to me, what would happen to them?"

"Don't know. I doubt Central Jurisdate would just kill them out of hand, but I suppose they might. I can think of a couple of planets they could be put in inside our space. Stuck here. Even released, eventually." Tacer looked distinctly unhappy. "Is this really accomplishing anything?"

"I need to know," John replied. //At least Chiana and Jool have a good chance of making it out of here alive. Or surviving, anyway.// "I-- Frell. What am I supposed to do, just accept whatever happens?"

Tacer shook his head. "I can't tell you what you're supposed to do! I don't *like* any of this. You're good people. I like you. If it were up to me, if nothing else were at stake, we'd get you out of here as soon as Chiana could be safely moved. But it's *not* up to me, and you're unlucky enough to be a major game piece." He threw a handful of tav'rel pieces across the room, apparently to illustrate his point. Jool had to dodge the ricochets. At her squeak of dismay, Tacer offered a distinctly lackluster, "Sorry." He dragged himself to his feet. "Have to go. Got a captain to bother."

# # #

About a quarter arn after Tacer had slouched out of the room, John diverted Jool's attention from the music recordings. "Princess, get over here and give me a hand."

"Do you want that tav'rel board back? I *still* haven't found all the pieces..."

"No," John replied, throwing his blanket out of the way, "give me an arm to lean on. I'm not entirely confident of my balance..." He pushed himself into a sitting position and swung his feet onto the floor. He hadn't actually touched it before -- it was made of some clearly synthetic material, kind of like plastic foam, with just a little give to it. At least it wasn't cold on his bare feet. Before his resolution could waver, John put a hand on the wall and tried to stand.

Jool managed to catch him as his knees buckled. "You're fahrbot, Crichton!"

"That's hardly news... and be quiet, unless you want everyone around to hear you."

Jool continued in a somewhat quieter voice. "You *know* you aren't supposed to be standing yet. Zhiv said not for at least eight more days--"

//Funny how he's suddenly an authority when she needs one.// "I'm changin' the schedule, Princess. I wanna be walking within five days. And I don't want you tattlin' to Zhiv or anyone else." By leaning on both Jool and the wall, John made it back to an upright position. He was feeling vertigo and a *pounding* headache.

"You are *definitely* fahrbot," Jool said, but she didn't push him back onto the bed.

//Doesn't she understand the situation? It may not *be* any worse than it was yesterday, but it sure *feels* worse.// "Princess, you're the one who didn't trust the Elite from the start." The room was starting to wobble a little... was that effect from his knees or his brain? And which would be worse?

Jool sniffed. "And you have suddenly decided not to trust them?"

John raised his eyebrows. "Jool, you were here for Tacer's little rant-cum-confessional. You heard what he said about our future prospects. I don't *have* to not trust them in order to be wanting some options." He let that hang in the air for a moment -- until some of the vertigo had eased. "Now help me try to walk -- unless you're looking forward to life on an obscure Elite planet?"

By the time Jool *insisted* they stop, John had circled the room three times. In addition, his legs were even more like jelly than they'd been when he started, the pain in his head was excruciating, and he was drenched with sweat, but the achievement was the key thing. //It'll be easier tomorrow. In fact, why wait? I'll see if I can get Jool to help later today, and maybe I'll practice standing on my own...//

"If we're counting on you walking to get out of here," Jool said, "I think I'd better check the databanks and choose a favorite Elite planet."

"Scram, Jool," John ordered. "I'm takin' a nap." //Scarrans, Scorpius, Elite. Scarrans, Scorpius, Elite. Which way do you want your brain dissected today, John?//

"I don't know, John. Which way *do* you want your brain dissected?"

//Oh, *just* what I need.// Well, Jool hadn't been a lot of help... "Harvey," John murmured as quietly as he could, "you have anything constructive to contribute or are you just here to be annoying? Know much about the Elite and how we might get out of this?"

Harvey coughed. "Personally I think you ought to consider surrendering to Scorpius."

"And just how am I supposed to do that? Waltz on out of an Elite garrison, pull a long-range comm out of my hat -- you're short on help today. Even worse than Jool, in fact." John pried his face out of the pillow and looked up, only to see a red nose and a rainbow-colored wig looking down at him... "Oh, god." He dropped his face back into the pillow and closed his eyes -- time for a nap after all. "All right, Harv. Go away. And don't appear in clown makeup *ever* again."

# # # # #

The door to Aeryn's cell opened to reveal the usual pair of guards. One of them tossed her a bundle of blue fabric. "Here. Can I see your boots...?" The Elite spotted Aeryn's boots on the floor by the cot, and walked casually in to examine them. "Hmm, these should be all right. Good. Have you gotten a meal yet?"

Aeryn shook her head cautiously as she examined the blue fabric. It turned out to be a very sturdy coverall, with pockets and loops for attaching things -- Elite field fatigues? It seemed a little too thick for that...

"Thermal insulation suit," said the guard, apparently seeing the question, and tossed her a small package. "Food rations. You'll find a change of clothes under the cot, which might be better under the suit than what you have -- leather will really stick to the suit lining. Eat, use the facilities, whatever else you need to do, and get the thermal suit on. We're heading out in less than an arn."

"What's going on?" Aeryn asked. "Where are 'we' going?"

"Bastarrex. Or the entryway, at least." The guard left, the door closing.

//I thought that was a myth...// Aeryn stared at the closed door for a microt before shaking off her shock and starting to don the thermal suit. Unfortunately, the guard had not exaggerated the problem with the leather. The lining not only stuck to it, it seemed to have some sort of attractant cling. Aeryn couldn't get even one leg of the suit on. //Well, I can't go out *without* the thermal suit.// Reluctantly, Aeryn looked under the cot to examine the promised change of clothes. To her relief, it wasn't some sort of prison jumpsuit, but what looked like an Elite uniform stripped of insignia. //It will have to do,// Aeryn decided reluctantly.

But she still didn't know what was going on. She'd only heard of Bastarrex as a myth, the last relics of an ancient, powerful race which had left their weapons behind. The Elite, apparently, knew Bastarrex as a concrete location -- and, she realized, thinking back to the lab, they thought something about her DNA was going to help them get in? Absurd.

The thermal suit slid on easily over the clothing the Elite had provided; Aeryn folded her clothes carefully on the bunk. //They had better still be here when I get back.// She turned her attention to the ration pack.

Enough of a gap elapsed between the time she finished eating and when the guards returned to make her think maybe they *weren't* watching her non-stop -- at least the guards weren't. The one who'd spoken to her was also wearing a thermal suit. Wordlessly, Aeryn followed him through the corridors to a lift, where they joined another guard or soldier, a specialist, and a tech, all dressed in similar suits, the specialist and tech carrying bulky packs. The specialist put a hand in a slot in the wall -- ident checker, maybe? -- and keyed the wall control panel with the other hand. The list whirred quietly into life.

The tech cast a curious look at Aeryn. After a microt or two, he murmured to the second guard, "That the key?"

"So Specialist Etael hopes," the guard murmured back. "I'm coming along for security, how *exciting*. What are you techies here for?"

"Well, you don't think it's going to be as simple as insert genes here, all secrets revealed to you, do you? *Someone* has to know how to open the door." The tech shrugged. "And if they don't get in today, I'm sure you'll all be *much* happier to know someone's monitoring the bubble."

Aeryn's escort smirked. "Watch yourself, Zilar. There's a specialist in the lift, you might've noticed." The specialist in question merely looked abused.

The lift doors opened to reveal what looked like a staging area. There were several soldiers in guard stances and several techs seated at consoles. Specialist Etael was also present, in full thermal suit and carrying a pack -- and with a breath mask hanging loosely around her neck. "Finally," Etael said. "You're the last ones. Go ahead through."

The tech from the lift took a breath mask off a rack on the wall and walked through a door. Aeryn couldn't see what was on the other side. The unnamed specialist followed. Etael waved impatiently for the guards -- and hence Aeryn -- to go ahead. One went immediately; her escort stayed put.

One of the techs apparently stationed here handed Aeryn a breath mask and a pair of goggles. "Just in case of emergencies," she said. "You shouldn't need them. Gloves in the pocket of your suit. Don't touch the sides of the conduit with your bare skin if you can help it."

"And don't lick it," a soldier added helpfully.

//*Lick* it?// Aeryn found herself looking out into space. Or -- not quite into space. The 'conduit' was a long, transparent tube snaking down to what looked like a large asteroid or small moon. //This is frelling *insane*!// She balked. "I'm supposed to jump?"

"Yes," said the tech. "Put your gloves on. There's very low gravity, just enough to pull you down gently. And no, the orbital is *not* going to pull away and tear the tube. Be sure to get out of the way promptly when you land."

Aeryn put her gloves on but still stared at the drop, uncomfortably reminded of another very long fall. "You get between a station and the surface by *jumping*? You're fahrbot."

"Well, for a variety of reasons we can't put a base on the surface," the tech said. "Really, this is perfectly safe--"

At that moment, Aeryn's escort grabbed her around the waist and tossed her feet-first through the open hatch into the tube.

That guard, she resolved, was going to die. Painfully.

The fall *was* slow, she had to admit. It provided a great deal of time to admire the void of space just on the other side of the thin transparent sides of the tube. Aeryn could see why breath masks were provided. She was all right, but she could easily imagine Chiana or Jool or Rygel starting to hyperventilate at the illusion of vacuum. Jool would probably shriek all the way down.

There was a cord running along the side of the tube, on the inside. Presumably it had something to do with coming back up. Out of curiosity, Aeryn touched one of the walls. Even through her gloves, she could feel the cold. //That explains why they said not to touch it. Although why an injunction not to lick it would even be necessary...// Down below she could see the asteroid -- it had to be an asteroid, there were no planets nearby for this to be a moon of. She didn't even see any star near enough to be called a sun. The asteroid was gray, rocky, and altogether unremarkable. //I wonder what they meant about not being able to put a base on the surface?// She wondered how long it was going to take to *get* to the surface.

Abruptly, the atmosphere around her seemed to thicken -- not, Aeryn realized, anything actually due to the air, but due to the field generators hugging the outside of this segment of tube, slowing her down. Considering the length of the fall, that was a good idea. //I hope this means the halfway point, though.// She seemed to have been falling forever.

Aeryn realized a few microts later that it was probably closer to the two-thirds point in terms of distance... in terms of time, she wasn't sure. The asteroid was still rushing towards her at a near-alarming speed.

Finally, she could see her destination, despite the field generators blocking her field of vision. It did indeed look like a 'bubble' over one of the asteroid's numerous deep craters or pits. There was light coming from it. Aeryn could also see someone ahead of her in the tube, until they disappeared. //Get out of the way promptly. Right.// Safe or not, this still struck her as a completely fahrbot method of transportation. Couldn't they build a base on the surface or just take a frelling shuttle? The bubble got closer and closer as Aeryn got slower and slower. She was almost in a stop when the generators vanished and she was in free-fall again, emerging from the tube to drop gently down towards ground that was remarkably smooth for a crater. Aeryn got out from under the tube before anyone could tell her to -- most of the people in the... bubble... didn't even look up. //More of those frelling *specialists*.//

No one seemed to be doing much beyond making preparations for... whatever... and only the guards were paying any attention to her. Aeryn looked around. Apart from the smooth, if still curved, ground, the place looked mostly like a normal crater. The exception was where most of the specialists were clustered. It looked like an alcove of some sort...

"The entrance to Bastarrex," her escort said conversationally. She hadn't seen him arrive. "That's the idea, anyway. Do you have very sensitive eyes?"

Aeryn sighed. "Why am I here?"

"Well, as I understand it... you know how with a normal door with a coded lock, you put in a code and then *enter* or *execute* or whatever?" At her nod, he continued. "With this door, you enter a code and then provide a DNA sample of something that didn't exist when the Makers abandoned this place, but was genetically engineered with all the skill of the Makers. All our attempts to create such a being have failed, so Etael and company go scrounging. You are the latest fortunate candidate."

"Fortunate?" Aeryn asked.

The guard shrugged. "Given that at the moment the only alternative to Etael is Captain Iber Quick-someone-give-him-some-eztegine, and I didn't say that..."

//Iber would be the one who wanted his subordinates to read texts on alien sexual practices.// Aeryn sighed again. //Have they *no* military discipline?// "I see. How long is this likely to take, and what happens next?"

"I'm no cryptographer." He looked over at the alcove. "Looks like they're ready."

Aeryn didn't wait to be steered, but walked over to the alcove herself, the very light gravity turned every step into a bounce. One of the specialists was just finishing entering a code into a panel set into the stone of the crater wall.

Etael barely looked up as Aeryn approached. "Good. I doubt we'll succeed on the first try, but let's start."

Another nameless specialist indicated a sort of small rectangle jutting out from the alcove wall, with a half-circle scooped out of it. "Put your head there and hold still."

//Now we come to the eye part.// Aeryn moved forward with great reluctance. //If I don't cooperate, nothing will change except I'll be under more restrictions.// She clenched her fists and stared straight ahead, trying not to flinch as -- sure enough -- a needle emerged from the rock wall and went right... into... her eye. //I hate this.//

After a microt, there was a shrill *bleep*. No door appeared. But the Elite appeared delighted -- evidently the DNA had been accepted even if the door code had not.

//Oh, frell. Are they going to need me here for *every frelling code* they try?//

They did. And they tried codes for a very long time. Aeryn had a terrible headache by the time they were finally through. The ride up the tube was easy enough, hooking your suit onto the cord, but back on the ship, station, or whatever it was she had to accept the guards' help on the walk back to her cell. She barely managed to strip off the thermal suit and get a drink of water before she fell asleep.


	7. ** 6 **

Lashan closed her eyes. So. The key had worked. Now it was all a matter of finding the correct code -- ten, twenty solar days at most and the place would be open. //I wish Etael would *think* occasionally. About something other than Bastarrex or cryptography.// Couldn't she see that this was exactly the *wrong* time to do this? //There's probably a *war* about to start...//

All right. She couldn't do anything about Etael. What could she do? //Cancel all outgoing excursions to other planets or the wilderness. As subtly as possible.// Lashan briefly considered recalling the people who were already out, but decided that would make it too obvious that something was up. If things went badly, they'd all know soon enough, but for now she had to get her division prepared for mobilization without letting them know.

She hoped it wouldn't come to that. //I don't want to die. I don't want *us* to die.// The Elite had been trying so hard to escape their past, to be more than mindless soldier-drones. They didn't *deserve* to be collateral casualties of the Scarrans and the Peacekeepers.

The problem was, in trying to be more than mindless soldier-drones, they'd become *less* than the efficient killing machines that had given the Ashkren near military supremacy in the region. Oh, they were still very good on a small scale, but killing the Makers had taken away their organization. As much as Lashan tried very hard to listen to Central Jurisdate, she had to admit they were trying to be both a government and a military command, and doing neither very well. Military oligarchies didn't work when everyone was in the military and unwilling to give up what they'd gained in the revolt.

And so captains were dictators in their own domains, a normal military arrangement. They *could* work together -- they arranged rotations, after all, and traded resources -- but an enormous council of captains could not plan strategy. //If we were attacked, we would probably pull together and figure something out. Probably. And there just aren't enough of us to risk a major war.// Their isolationist attitude was as much defense as anything else. They needed time.

Despite all the tension, she still had to deal with all the normal, day-to-day business of running a division on agricultural rotation. The intended recipient of the smuggled drugs had been identified and needed to be disciplined -- she left it at his unit leader's discretion. Two people were requesting transfers to Prime Needler Squad on account of emerging entropy-stripes. //Makers, I hate this... frell the Makers.// Nothing to do but approve it. A beetle infestation in one of the fields had been defeated -- that one, at least, was just notification and required no response. She fired off a ~good work~ anyway. One of the children of the permanent residents was showing Elite markings; Lashan put them on the list for induction into the next training unit to be formed, and sent back some instructions. Rezsarac creche's pet moh'ssi had inexplicably escaped and even more inexplicably gotten into the food preparation area, where it had caused havoc before vanishing into a ventilation duct. A third of the kids were in hysterics, anticipating the creature's imminent demise in a filter, another third were enthusiastically searching for it, and only the remaining third were actually attending their lessons. Lashan smiled and replied to that one, ~JUST FIND THE FRELLING PET!~

Oh, and hmm... It seemed that *somebody* had rerouted the Vault surveillance feeds.

//Tacer, you really have to learn to be more subtle about these things.// Lashan hesitated. "All right, Tace, I'll trust you," she murmured. "I just hope you know what you're doing."

# # # # #

The walking went much better the second day, right up until John stepped on one of the tav'rel game pieces. "Frell!" John instinctively tried to hop on one foot, but this failed miserably and he ended up sprawled on the floor, staring at the ceiling. //Frell, frell, frell.// He really had to wonder what he thought he was going to do. Even if he *could* walk, he couldn't think of any way of getting off the planet.

John heard footsteps, and quickly scrambled back into bed, trying to look like he'd never left. The subterfuge was no doubt hopeless, since he was probably being monitored, but he had to try.

Tacer came in, hands shoved in the pockets of his uniform jacket. "Hi. Sorry for running off yesterday."

"That's all right," John replied, shrugging. Tacer had obviously been feeling very guilty. "I can see why you might've."

"Yes." Tacer sighed, then seemed to shrug the previous day off. "Zhiv been in here today?"

"No, actually... why do you ask?"

Tacer shrugged again. "I heard he was having trouble with one of the training medics -- he's in charge of teaching. If he hasn't been in here already, it's probably true. And *since* Zhiv isn't here, you can go see your Nebari friend if you want."

"Great!" John replied. "We'll need to get Jool first. And, could you... show me around the place a little, too?" //Seems worth a shot.// He didn't want to take advantage of Tacer's nature, but under the circumstances it seemed unavoidable.

"Why not?" The Elite seemed to consider that. "All right, there are plenty of reasons why not, but Zhiv isn't here and Lashan's *much* too busy to kill me today. I'll get the mobile chair. *You* can get yourself sitting up before I get back, as my unsolicited contribution to your rehabilitation exercise." Tacer sauntered out of the room, his spirits evidently having revived.

John didn't have much trouble at all sitting up, but he pretended to be breathing hard when Tacer returned. Tacer gave him a hand into the mobile chair and pushed it on out the door.

"All right, this is the lab. A lab." Tacer waved a vague hand around the room. "There's a lot of... equipment... I don't know what most of it does."

John pointed to a tube which he recognized from his first few times waking up here. "What's that?"

"Um... ierogetic tube. It fixes people. I have no idea how." Tacer chuckled. "Zhiv is very protective of it. That door goes to the other recovery room, where your Nebari friend is, over there is a pure lab, no treatment, just tests, and there's a little place for the medic to get a little sleep over there. If we want to get the Interion, we go this way." Tacer chose yet another door, and pressed his hand to a pad by the door. "That's a lock," he added. "Palmprint and DNA scan."

"So I'm locked in?" John asked, resigned.

"No... it'd recognize you and let you out, just notify Lashan, too." Tacer pushed the chair out into a hall. "This is, um, a corridor. We're in the Vault. Well, we started out in the Vault, so that's not a change. There's a variety of stuff in here -- detention cells, personnel quarters, communication equipment, data storage, all sorts of things. Even a small workout room."

John looked around. Apart from the color scheme -- blue and dark gray rather than red and black -- the corridor didn't differ very much from the few PK halls he'd seen. "What's a Vault?"

"Captain's private facilities. Used for anything the captain wants." John could almost hear the smirk in Tacer's voice. "After Lashan unsealed the place and I got back, I looked around to see if I could figure out where Iber-- Never mind." Tacer cleared his throat. "Your Interion friend's in the personnel quarters. She's not locked in, either, but she doesn't move around very much. Still afraid of us, I guess."

"That's Jool for you." John was trying to memorize the layout. //Thoughtless of Tacer not mention where the exit is and how to get to a hanger from there.// "Where do you live?"

Tacer sighed. "Now *that's* a complicated question. My current quarters are up in the main garrison, near Lashan's so she can find me whenever. I have a room down here, too. But I wouldn't say I really live anywhere. Generally I switch quarters every rotation, when this division switches assignment. They're all more or less the *same* quarters, but none of them feel permanent." Tacer's tone changed to nearly wistful. "Well, and there's always my creche, but that's nowhere near here."

John's curiosity won out. "What was it like? Growin' up in a creche?"

"A little awkward. I was always... different. But it wasn't bad at all. Here we are." Tacer touched another pad on the wall, and the door before them opened, revealing a set of very boring quarters. They looked comfortable enough, though.

Inside the room, Jool rocketed to her feet, then relaxed. "Oh! Crichton. What are you doing here?"

"We're goin' to visit Chiana, Princess. Come on." John beckoned for Jool to join them. "So, Tacer, anythin' interestin' happen lately?"

"Oh, not much... there's a moh'ssi loose in the ventilation... one of the training units has discovered sex and they've gotten a little out of control... Lashan's walking around frowning, which has some people *really* puzzled... Zhiv, as I said earlier, is attempting to deal with a miscreant training medic..." Tacer trailed off, and didn't speak again until they'd entered the lab. "If you're asking about Bastarrex, the key worked, but they don't have the entrance code yet. I expect Etael will figure it out soon."

"Who's Etael?" John asked, though they were almost at Chiana's door.

Tacer touched the lock-pad. "Head of the Bastarrex cryptographers. Really brilliant, but somewhat... driven. A little scary sometimes."

Chiana had clearly heard the door open. "That you, Crichton?" she asked.

"Yep, it's me," John replied. "Feelin' any better, Pip?"

"Oh... some... Hi, Princess." Chiana tried to turn her head to look at them, but was foiled, again, by the braces. "How do I look?"

"Better," John said, honestly. "Not good, but better. Tacer, you have any ideas of specifics?"

The Elite frowned. "No... but I'll see if I can find Zhiv's notes. They should be around here somewhere." He began to circle the room, examining consoles and opening cabinets. "She must be doing better, though, or there'd be a medic in here. Oh, here they are." Tacer waved some flimsy sheets of... something... covered in indecipherable marks. "Says the transplants are taking well and prognosis is good."

Chiana rolled her eyes towards him. "Does it say when they're going to let me up?"

"Um... no."

"Never mind that right now, Chi, things have gotten a bit more interestin'," John said, and told her about Bastarrex.

Not completely to his surprise, her eyes grew wide. "Bastarrex? Really? There's supposed to be unimaginable wealth in Bastarrex. Stockpiles of precious ores, technology found nowhere else... Anyone who found that place would be *rich*. People would go and hunt for it--"

John laughed. "Do you think any of 'em considered how they were going to get the unimaginable wealth out of Elite space?"

"The stories never mentioned the Elite," Chiana said after a pause. "I mean, it was supposed to be somewhere in this area, but I hadn't heard any of the salvagers treasure hunters ever say that Bastarrex belonged to the Elite."

"Maybe that's why the treasure hunters didn't come back," Jool said.

Chiana sighed, but there was still a gleam in her eyes. "About to be opened for the first time in cycles," she murmured. "And no one knows what's in there. To bad I'm going to miss it." She paused. "Something the matter, Princess?"

"The Elite is laughing at you," Jool said.

Indeed, by this time Tacer had a hand stuffed in his mouth. He shook his head quickly, then spoke through his snickers. "Um -- don't mind me -- sorry--"

John raised his eyebrows. "You*know* stories about treasure hunters gettin' themselves killed?"

"Not really," Tacer said, still snickering. "*If* any of them even made it past the border, I doubt they ever found the place. It's almost impossible to identify without a in-depth scan, or if you've seen it before, and even then it's got camouflage on its side. It looks like an asteroid, albeit an asteroid with some freaky electrical fields. If you land a ship on it, there's a fifty-fifty chance it will get completely fried. Uh, the ship. Not the asteroid."

"You've been there?" John asked, curiosity piqued.

Tacer shrugged. "Yes. It's in the same rotation-jurisdate -- our division garrisons the orbital base in other rotations, we will again in a few cycles. There wasn't a whole lot to see, though -- just the base and the entrance. I didn't even get to see much of the entrance after Etael got Lashan to order me to stop tubing up and down." He sighed. "Etael has no sense of humor."

Chiana looked seriously envious. "I wish I could go there."

"No, Pip, you don't," John corrected. "Because in order for us to go there, I'm sure something very freaky would have to be happenin' with our... hosts. Which is a somewhat touchy situation as it is -- pardon me, Tacer, but she needs to hear about this."

"Don't mind me. I'll just go play with Zhiv's sensitive equipment."

//He really is a fun guy... but I do not envy his commanding officer.// John returned his attention to Chiana and quickly related what Tacer had said earlier. Unsurprisingly, Chiana was less than happy about the situation, but she didn't seem overly surprised. "I think that about sums it up. We have no idea what we're goin' to do, of course, never mind two of us can't walk and Tacer's right here in the room--"

"But not paying any attention, I assure you--"

John and Jool *looked* at Tacer; Chiana tried to. After a pause John went on. "So, we're not really *doin'* anything about this. I guess I'm just tellin' you so you can worry about it, too."

"Thanks, Crichton," Chiana replied. "Just what I needed. Our lives are dependent on politics."

"Uh. That is a disheartening way of puttin' it..." John glanced back at Tacer. "Okay, name us the factions."

Tacer rolled his eyes. "Makers," he muttered.

# # # # #

Aeryn leaned against the rock wall, holding a cloth to her eye, and took a tentative bite from her ration bar. They'd taken a time-out from trying codes to discuss a code-trying program, and how to apply it in the current situation. That's what the cryptographers were doing, anyway. The rest of the Elite looked... bored, especially the techs. Most of the soldiers were at least paying attention to their guard duty, but the techs had no work to do and so were amusing themselves by playing in the low gravity and, from what she'd overheard, wagering on the output of a random number generator. Aeryn had been left alone to eat.

"I don't know, we haven't run through the whole selection of known Makers codes..."

"They'll have something different here. What about DNA sequences?"

"What level?"

The ration bar wasn't bad, especially compared to food cubes, and they'd given her plenty of water. They'd also given her an injection for her headache, which she suspected was slowing her thinking down as well. //But they'll let their guard down eventually. They have to.// Maybe when they found a code that worked. The specialists would certainly be distracted. Frell, half of them always seemed to be distracted.

"Numerals in sequence is *not* going to do it. Can we be serious?"

"No."

"You be quiet. I'm looking for code-breakers here, not clones of Lashan's pet monster."

Of course, running presented a problem since the only place to go was back up the tube to the ship, orbital station, or whatever it was. There had to be ships of some sort on the station -- better yet, her Prowler. If only she had some idea how the station was laid out...

"All right. Trying program one... where's the key?"

"Having lunch like a sensible person..."

"Wish I had guards to bring me lunch."

The break was over. Aeryn reluctantly got up and allowed the guards to escort her back to the scanner. At least the medication did help with the pain.

# # #

Midway through the third day of trying codes, they did it.

Instead of the usual shrill bleep, there was a more melodic tone and a hiss of compressed air. The outline of a door appeared in the rock of the alcove wall. In microts, the whole crater had gone silent as everyone looked at the door.

Etael's voice was barely a whisper. "You have the code?" One of the specialists nodded wordlessly. "Good. We'll have to get in the same way until we can find their command center and reset the doors. Um... all right, form up, we'll need a full guard, and you techs had better get ready, too--"

"Not today, Etael."

That sounded like Captain Iber 'quick-someone-slip-him-some-eztegine', whatever *that* meant. From the rebellious look on Etael's face, it was someone who could order her around. "Captain, surely you're not--"

"You have the key, you have the code. Can't you get back in?"

"Yes, but--"

"Then we wait," Iber ordered. "I'll inform Central Jurisdate. They'll send in more experts, send orders--"

"Absolve you of responsibility," Etael hissed. "I see no reason to stop. We have enough experts here for a first trip. And Central Jurisdate never sends any kind of orders. We can--"

"That was an *order*, Specialist," Iber hissed back.

Etael tensed, but then backed down. A little. "We regroup, you inform whoever you like, and we go in tomorrow."

The captain paused. "All right," he said at last. "Let's pack up and get out of here."

"For today."

"For today." Iber raised his voice. "And I *don't* want everyone on the station hearing about this, soldiers. Understood? And *no* one off the station."

After the murmured chorus of affirmatives, they packed up and ascended the tube once again.

# # # # #

Drumming her fingers on her desk, Lashan wondered where she was going to find homes for seven baby moh'ssi. And how long it would be before the mother would consent to return to her adoring owners. Life was never boring.

The door opened and Tacer walked in without asking, as usual. "Lashan? You doing anything important?"

"Not really." //Just waiting for someone to tell me something useful.// "Why? I thought you were talking to our guests about factions and politics." Probably he'd gotten sick of the subject, or his audience finally had. Central Jurisdate politics tended to be hopelessly complicated and just when you thought you had them figured out, the rules would change.

"Well, I was. But I was talking about some of the more extreme factions, and it occurred to me..." Tacer shifted uncomfortably. "You remember Hajen?"

Hajen... //Ah, yes.// Hajen had been one of the numerous failures in Tacer's ongoing quest for genuine romantic love. They had, Lashan recalled, had an enormous fight -- one of the few ending relationships to leave Tacer angry instead of crushed. "What about her?"

"Remember what we fought about?"

She definitely remembered *that*. Hajen was in one of the more extreme political factions. In fact, she was practically a faction on her own. "Yes..."

"Last I heard she's assigned to Captain Iber."

Lashan stared at him for a moment, then turned back to the computer and started ordering the senior crew, as well as their local ship, on standby. With Iber, Etael, *and* Hajen on site, she *knew* things would go wrong. Probably *very* wrong. "Tacer, make a list of all the crew you think we should, hypothetically, bring to Bastarrex. Then go tell Zhiv to make sure his patients can be moved." He paused, then nodded and left.

Things were going to get interesting.


	8. ** 7 **

The guards were more meticulous about outfitting her this time. "You're going to be coming inside with the rest of the group," one of them explained. "In case there's anything else that needs the key, I guess. Whatever the frell your status is, there are some basic requirements." So, in addition to the thermal suit and oxygen mask, Aeryn had a comm, a handlamp, and -- tucked into a backpack -- a reserve oxygen store, several water flasks, a substantial supply of ration bars, and her own clothes, which she'd added on her own.

Used sparingly, the food and water, in fact, would probably last for several solar days. Aeryn began to form the beginnings of a plan. //A course of action.// They didn't have a very good history with *plans*.

The necessity for some sort of plan was becoming somewhat more urgent. Peacekeepers were mentioned more and more often in the half-overheard conversations around her. There were some large divides in what the speakers seemed to think of the Peacekeepers, but it was clear that many of them expected the Peacekeepers to become involved. Soon. In addition, once they'd gotten into Bastarrex, they could reprogram the security system and would no longer need her as a key. That would mean she would be sent... somewhere... for use as a bargaining chip, genetic research, or something else unpleasant. //Or not.// She hadn't failed to notice the way Iber kept looking at her. She'd finally remembered what eztegine was -- it was a drug the Elite sometimes used to eliminate the need for recreation. Not that she couldn't take care of herself if... anything like that... happened, even against an Elite, but it was something to be avoided.

So -- as soon as they got into Bastarrex, the situation changed and her position become uncertain.

Conclusion -- she had to get away as soon as possible after they got into Bastarrex.

Around her in the crater, the guards also had more... extensive... field kits, or rather, they all had rather large packs. They were also all carrying two or three sidearms each. It struck Aeryn as a little excessive -- after all, they only had two *arms* each -- but then, each soldier only had one pulse pistol. The other sidearms were different. How, she wasn't sure. //What sorts of strange weapons do Elite use?// She didn't think she'd ever heard of any, actually...

Etael cleared her throat for attention, and the murmur of conversation immediately died down. "Everyone has their assignments? Who's coming in, who's staying out here?" She paused, then nodded. "Good. Everyone coming inside, check your oxygen masks. We know there's an atmosphere of sorts in there, but we don't know how breathable it is."

Someone near Aeryn whispered to a neighbor, "Frelling cryptographer doesn't even know the correct definition of atmosphere..."

"No, I think it doesn't have to be planetary," the neighbor whispered back.

And that was two *soldiers*, not even techs. //Maybe if they were techs they would know the definition and wouldn't be arguing about it.//

"All right, time to start. Where's the key gone this time?"

Aeryn, as usual, hadn't gone anywhere. She obediently stepped forward yet again to present her eye to the needle. Hopefully this would be the last time. As it had the day before, the computer, or whatever, emitted a quiet tone, and the door outline appeared. Aeryn backed away, giving Etael room to step forward -- if they thought she was docile, they would give her all the more opportunities to escape -- and pulled up her oxygen mask.

The code entered, the door opened at a mere touch from Etael's gloved hand, hissing aside to vanish in the wall. The chamber beyond looked very much like a large airlock -- a sensible precaution, since the crater wasn't originally pressurized. The specialist took a step forward, but one of the techs got inside first, giving Etael an almost reproving look before crossing the airlock and examining the door at the other end. After a few microts' inspection, the tech shrugged and waved several *other* techs forward. They then scrutinized the door with eyes, optical scanners, and some sort of scanner which had to be in direct contact -- the equipment might have been common across the Territories for all Aeryn knew -- before pronouncing it safe and unrigged. Not only that, but it had a straightforward control to open it, and since the lock was pressurized it would present no problem.

"Which makes me a little suspicious," the senior tech said dubiously. "I'd like to recommend most of the group return to the station while we try opening it, just in case--"

"You're paranoid," Etael interrupted. She strode swiftly across the airlock and slammed a hand on the door toggle. The inner door opened with only a faint protesting creak and no exploding panels, weapons fire, gas releases, or other traps. Even so, there were not a few winces among the techs and soldiers. Etael had just been careless, and the troops knew it.

Aeryn wondered uncharitably if the specialist could actually use the sidearms she carried. Well, maybe -- she seemed comfortable with them -- but Etael was no commando, and it was showing. //She's gotten worse, actually. Getting less and less disciplined.// It must have something to do with getting closer to the goal. Etael had already demonstrated considerable devotion to the... project. She'd practically claimed ownership of it.

The group moved slowly, carefully forward. Again, Aeryn offered no resistance, merely followed along between the guards and activated her handlamp when everyone else did. The hall they walked into was unlit but, she noticed immediately, had standard gravity. Everything shifted a little, packs hanging heavier, feet settling more solidly to the floor. After a microt, there was a faint hum and low lights appeared, dim blue rods along each side of the ceiling, illuminating a long, low passage of lifeless dark gray, walls punctuated occasionally with doors.

One of the techs was already testing the air, looking closely at a gauge while another tech trained a handlamp on it for better light. "It's very stale," he said softly. "If the environmental regulator is running at all -- besides the gravity -- it's at a minimum. I'd suggest everyone keep their masks on."

"Understood," Etael replied, equally softly. "Our first objective is to find the command center, so we can activate environmentals and change the door code. After that we'll do a little further exploration. This is an initial survey." She took a few steps forward, shining her handlamp around the hall. "There won't be very much up here," she added. "Most Ashkren command centers are centrally located... and at any rate we're at the very top of the sphere. 'Top' with regard to the gravity field, that is. Senior tech, I expect one of these doors is a lift access. Please find it."

//Frell, is the entire asteroid hollowed out?// All the better, she thought.

The lift was located. Unfortunately, it wasn't big enough to accommodate the entire group at one time. Etael made sure each group, composed of specialists, techs, and commandos, knew they were supposed to go to Command Level One, and that each group had someone who could read the 'technical Ashkren' to operate the lift. One of the groups would have to have Aeryn as well, but Etael didn't mention that. She probably hadn't thought of it. Most of the time, Etael didn't even seem to remember they had a prisoner in tow at all.

Aeryn rode quietly in the lift with the first group, paying close attention to what the techs did to operate it. Door controls -- destination -- it seemed simple enough, especially if she ignored the emergency controls which the techs were scrutinizing so eagerly. Etael, evidently seeing nothing of interest in the emergency controls, had them stop and just go to the designated level, although she did pay attention when the techs pointed out the bands of controls for different classifications of level. The controls were labeled in Ashkren -- probably 'technical Ashkren' -- and the labels were meaningless to Aeryn, but she took care to note which levels Etael seemed interested in, and which she didn't, and that very few levels were accessible from this lift, which had apparently been used primarily for maintenance. Another lift would probably provide wider access.

The group reached Command Level One without incident, and quickly spread out in small squads, checking over the level. The control room was located fairly quickly, and they all assembled to watch the techs and the controls. One of the techs complained of being stared at.

Etael sighed impatiently. "I hope you're not saying you can't work under pressure."

"Look, this isn't a simple repair job, Specialist. Not only are we not sure how these computers originally ran, they haven't operated at anything but standby for a very long time... no repairs, no diagnostics... who knows what condition they're in? No -- wait -- here! I have access!" He eagerly worked the console, ignoring Etael. "I'm running diagnostics and instructing it to activate the main computer grid and the major power relays. Processing... I think..." The lights suddenly brightened, and the tech grinned triumphantly. "It'll take time to get everything up to full capacity, but I think most of the computer access here on this level is coming up, so you can check and see what to do next..."

The techs and specialists promptly scattered. Within microts the commandos had scattered as well, chasing after them. Aeryn could hear several arguments developing -- "Specialist! We haven't cleared that corridor!" -- "Where are you *going*?!" -- "What are you planning on shooting, me?" -- "Look, I know *much* more about Ashkren trap-tech than you do, so will you stop waving your gun and let me do my job?"

Perfect. Even her guards had abandoned Aeryn to pursue a particularly... enthusiastic... cryptography specialist who'd taken it upon himself to crawl into a very narrow maintenance tunnel. She felt sorry for them. It had been bad enough that first half-cycle with Crichton -- assigned to safeguard dozens of people just as enthusiastic and careless, some of whom outranked you... it didn't bear thinking about.

No one noticed her enter the lift. Aeryn hesitated over the unreadable controls. Dull gray was maintenance, gray-green was command... She shrugged inwardly and hit the controls for one of the black levels. Then, just to be safe, she hit the controls for a lot of other levels in every color but green -- the lift wouldn't be returning to command-one for a while!

Aeryn had some time to think while the lift picked up speed as it plunged deeper into the asteroid. She'd been lucky so far, to be captured by a disunited crew under the joint command of a single-minded scientist and an all but incompetent captain. She couldn't count on being lucky again. //Although I strongly suspect now that the place is unsealed, Etael doesn't care about me at all and wouldn't even bother looking for me.// But more Elite would be coming.

She would be able to hide for a while because of the sheer size of Bastarrex, and the Elite's unfamiliarity with its layout. But not forever. She had to decide what to do next...

# # # # #

John was lying on his bed trying to sleep when he heard Tacer and Zhiv speaking in low but heated tones somewhere nearby. As subtly as possible, John crept over to the door and looked out. Zhiv was storming about the lab, Tacer leaning on the sensitive equipment with his hands in his pockets again.

"I don't frelling *believe* this," Zhiv snarled, apparently not for the first time. "I can't accelerate recovery just because Iber let some frelling tralk on his crew, Tacer--"

//Accelerate recovery -- this has got something to do with us. Frell.// Unless Zhiv had some other important patient--

"Lashan gave the orders, not me," Tacer snapped back. "And Hajen is not a 'frelling tralk,' she is a competent soldier who has some very destructive ideas which Iber isn't going to hold her back from! Not to say she wouldn't play the tralk if it got her what she wanted," he added bitterly.

Zhiv did not seem at all mollified. "So what is Lashan trying to do? I would have thought a move in the other direction would be more useful!"

"She hasn't *said* where she'll be moving them. I think Central Jurisdate actually sent some sort of orders." Tacer sighed. "But surely you understand why she wants to head out to Bastarrex. Iber's going to need all the help he can get, and he's certainly not going to get it from Etael. She probably hasn't been back to the orbital since they got the doors unsealed."

Yes, they were definitely discussing John and the others. //They're going to move us somewhere, and it sounds like *Tacer* isn't sure where.// It also sounded like their rest and recovery time was dangerously close to ending...

"Frell," Zhiv muttered. "Have I mentioned recently how annoying you are when you're right?"

"According to you I'm always annoying." Tacer shrugged and shook his head. "I wish I knew what was going to happen next, but... no way to tell."

John quickly crept back to bed. He didn't want them to catch him walking, let along listening. Although what difference that would actually make... //Think positive. Think positive.//

"Yes, John, do. After all, you don't *know* that they'll turn you over to the Scarrans."

"Perfect," John muttered, glaring at Harvey. At least this time the neural clone had restrained himself to a white lab coat. No clown makeup. John kept his voice low, *not* wanting Tacer or Zhiv to overhear. "Are you in the mood to help now? What do you know about the Elite?"

Harvey paused, apparently considering. "No one knows very much about them, John. They're terribly isolationist. They don't interfere in affairs outside their space, and maintain a very strict policy regarding entry to their space. Since they're relatively harmless unless provoked, Peacekeepers generally don't disturb them."

John chuckled under his breath. "Lemme guess -- every ship you sent in here never came out."

"Not... precisely." After a pause, Harvey caved. "Yes. Every lone Peacekeeper vessel which entered Elite space has disappeared, with a few exceptions. The exceptions, none of which penetrated very far, and most of which entered accidentally, reported that they were approached by an Elite vessel, their communications blocked, then a signal punched through with a demand that they reverse course or be destroyed." Harvey paused again, and smiled faintly. "I believe the Scarrans have experienced similar difficulties. However, there has never been a major move against the Elite. We don't wish to, as you would put it, stir up a hornet nest."

"Tacer thinks that if you did attack, the Elite would lose," John said after a moment.

"He presumably is more familiar with Elite abilities than I am." Harvey did not look pleased. "But they can take out a command carrier or a dreadnought, and we don't know how. Such a victory would be very costly."

"Which is what the Elite are countin' on." A precarious position, no wonder Lashan was worried... "Have they tried playing the Scarrans and the PKs against each other?"

Harvey shook his head. "Thus far they've treated both exactly the same, and offered no overtures to either. Nor have they responded to any overtures."

Something in Harvey's tone... "You -- Scorpy -- tried to follow up the Bastarrex rumors, didn't you," John said. "They just chase you out?"

The neural clone did not answer the question, which was reply enough. "John, the only contribution I can make to this is that they are meticulous about their uninvolvement and neutrality. If they need to use you to buy off one side or the other, they will. Think, John. When their civilization, such as it is, began, it assigned no value to *their* lives. They considered *themselves* merely tools. They were *designed* to be that way. Do you think something that basic is going to completely disappear just because they revolted?" Harvey adjusted a pair of half-moon reading glasses. "Under pressure they *will* revert to the attitude of the ends justifying the means."

"Just because you work like that all the time, Harv..." //So, what he's saying is that they can turn their heart off when it's not convenient.// That did not help. "Any *positive* advice?"

"Well... you could try to convince them that helping you is in their best interests."

"*Is* it in their best interests?" John stopped as Tacer entered the room wearing an expression of forced cheerfulness. Blinking in the suddenly brighter light, John pushed himself up until he was leaning against the pillows, trying to make it look like it required more effort than it did. "You don't look so good, Tacer."

"Stress," Tacer replied. "Lashan's under a lot of strain right now. I've been trying to cheer her up, but it's not working very well. How are *you* doing? I'm not the one under medical care, here. Has Zhiv been in here yet today?"

"No... what's wrong with your captain?"

Tacer shrugged uncomfortably. "She feels like her options are decreasing. She never likes that. And she's frustrated about having to keep so many secrets."

//I know the feeling.// "The whole Bastarrex thing?"

"Mostly..." Tacer hesitated. "Look, um, before I came in... it sounded like you were talking to yourself..."

//Frell.// John tried to act nonchalant and not look at Harvey. "Well, I do sometimes. Don't you?"

He must have looked at Harvey, because Tacer glanced over at the corner and frowned slightly. "Sometimes. Usually when I'm trying to tell people about my opinion on our species name. And Lashan is always complaining that she's talking to herself when I'm around." Tacer looked like he would continue, then shook his head. "I came to tell you that something's going to happen soon. I'm not sure what. I think you'll probably be going with us to Bastarrex."

"Ah. Frell."

"Yes." Tacer shook his head again. "Look, um... I just wanted to tell you that I *am* going to be doing everything I can to help you. We really don't know what's going to happen -- don't give up. I have a few ideas... not all of which Lashan would approve of..."

John couldn't resist observing, "You seem to be on awfully informal terms with your captain. Is that common?"

"Um, no, it's... what's the word... right. Nepotism." Tacer smiled at John's expression. "I'm her brother. She called in favors to get me assigned here because she was afraid I'd get myself 'summarily executed for insubordination' by some other captain."

This was an abrupt departure from the test-tube baby arrangement he'd heard about. "I didn't think you guys did the whole sibling thing."

"Well, most people don't, but there's nothing that says you *can't*. Our parents are a little unusual." Tacer frowned. "Someone told me once that we were a real mess as far as observation was concerned. You know, observing whether having a family in addition to your creche was positive or negative for overall development? They couldn't get a conclusion from us. Lashan turned out really well, I turned out... terminally insubordinate. Literally, Lashan says, if I'm not careful."

"Huh," John said. "That... actually explains quite a bit." The flippant attitude, Tacer's apparent refusal to take orders from anyone but Lashan...

"The Elite are slipping," Harvey observed. "This is a sad example of a soldier."

//Harv, are you trying to convince Tacer that I'm insane? Because he can tell something's up...// "So what did you do that she was afraid would get you killed?"

Tacer looked faintly uncomfortable. "Well... there were a few... pranks. Some other stuff. I just didn't see the reason to it. Why the frell should they be giving me orders? It's not like most of them could lead their way through an open door." His face twisted. "We'd all be a lot better off if we didn't pay so much attention to *orders*."

//God, the kid's an incipient anarchist.// No wonder he occupied the nebulous position of 'aide' -- to his *sister*, of all things. //I didn't even consider that -- but they do have the same hair.// Maybe he should ask what was up with the hair. Stripes?

"That's because it's fur, John," Harvey contributed. "Much less trouble to take care of than hair. Very sensible of the Ashkren."

Again, Tacer glanced at the corner, and again he looked puzzled. He was definitely picking up on some sort of cue, despite John's attempts not to look at Harvey or outwardly react. For a microt Tacer looked like he was going to ask again, but then he shook his head and changed the subject. "Zhiv's going to try Chiana out in a mobile chair today. I suggest we don't go over there just yet, since Zhiv agreed to this only under heavy pressure and as a result is kind of... cranky."

"Wait -- is this going to endanger Chiana's recovery?" John asked worriedly.

"I doubt it," Tacer replied. "Zhiv was saying it would, but he was exaggerating. It's very rare for a transplanted organ to be rejected after it's this far attached. Zhiv's worried that any further spinal trauma might do it, though, so she'll want to be careful for a while."

"How long?"

Tacer shrugged. "Not sure. Quarter-cycle, half a cycle... in a cycle or so it should be almost impossible to tell it's not the original, and it'll be firmly entrenched before that... Zhiv would probably give you an outrageously long estimate... He actually doesn't want Chiana or the Interion taken out of the Vault. Thinks there's no reason to risk it." Tacer smiled. "Of course, that might just be because he'll be on the ship going to Bastarrex and he doesn't want the Interion to be there, too."

John couldn't repress a snicker. Interion-Elite relations were *not* going to improve due to Zhiv and Jool. Despite John's repeated pleas, Jool still kept going on about the wonderfulness of the Ashkren and the barbarism of the Elite whenever Zhiv was within hearing. For Zhiv's part, well, Jool's rations had shown a remarkable decline in quality, until she was getting food cubes.

Jool was a lot more restrained around Tacer -- probably because he was only too happy to talk about the subject and would maintain a lively debate long after Jool tired of it. Tacer was very good at pushing Jool's buttons and did so with glee. John often had to ask *him* to stop.

"So how long do we have?" John asked at last. "Before... whatever is going to happen. We go to Bastarrex."

"I would think a few days--" Tacer broke off suddenly, and nudged something on his collar with his chin. "Lashan?"

//Is that a comm?// He hadn't seen or heard any signal

"Because the frequency of their alert signal is above your species's narrow range of hearing, John," Harvey informed helpfully. Fortunately, Tacer was speaking to his captain and if he noticed, didn't react.

"What's happening? Do you need me up there?" Tacer was asking anxiously. He apparently hadn't expected to be commed.

"Sorry to scare you, Tacer," Lashan's voice said tiredly. "The schedule is being accelerated -- we'll be leaving as soon as possible, tomorrow probably. I wanted to tell you right away. You're still willing to be advocate?" Strange, that made it sound like Tacer was a lawyer.

"Of course, but... what happened? Central Jurisdate?"

"Not yet," Lashan said, sighing. "But Iber finally responded to my last message. Hajen has disappeared from the orbital. In a Javelin courier."

Tacer blinked once. "Aw, *frell*!"

# # # # #

The ship was small, fast, lightly armed, and barely armored -- though the deception shroud it had just dropped showed the reason for the last. Braca had never seen anything like it before. "Is it within range of the docking web?" he asked.

"Negative, sir. It's holding position just outside maximum range."

Should he inform Scorpius? Ever since the latest incident with Crichton, the hybrid had been even more short-tempered than usual. If Braca chose incorrectly, the consequences could be... severe. He still hadn't decided when he was informed that the unknown had opened a communications channel.

The ship's pilot almost looked Sebacean, save for the grotesque colored markings. Braca blanched as he recognized an Elite. "State your identity and origins," he ordered, trying to cover it up.

There was a moment's pause before the pilot replied. "Hajen Izvareth. My origins are no business of a placeholder. I have information I think your commander would find very... interesting. I wish to board and speak to him."


	9. ** 8 **

"Not that I have anything against Tacer's steering," John stage-whispered to Chiana, "but if they'd just give us *motorized* mobile chairs, we could have a drag race."

As he'd hoped, that made her laugh, breaking the dark mood she'd been in ever since hearing about their impending visit to Bastarrex. "Too bad Jool isn't awake to watch," she replied. "But they did warn her."

Jool, drugged to keep her from causing a commotion, was being carried down the Vault hallway by Shahin and Zhiv, neither of whom looked happy about the situation. They weren't taking a great deal of care with Jool's clothing, which was unfortunate given that Jool was still wearing her original clothing. John had a horrible suspicion that by the time they got to the transport ship, it would have slid out of place enough to seriously imperil Jool's modesty.

Everyone knew how she'd react to *that*. //My ears have had enough abuse, thanks.//

"What's the matter, old man?" Chiana asked.

"What? Oh, nothin' really. Just picturing what's goin' to happen when Princess wakes up and discovers her bodice is... uh... shifting."

Chiana sighed. "At least she still has her clothes instead of being stuck in these... these..." The Nebari trailed off in disgust.

"It's just an off-duty uniform," Tacer said from behind them -- he was pushing both chairs. "It's not like you're still in pajamas. Everyone wears the uniforms."

"I think that's her problem," John chuckled as they stopped at Zhiv's hand-wave. The off-duty uniforms -- they'd given him one, too -- were comfortable and functional, intended for relaxation. They were also loose-fitting, relatively high-necked, and overall not designed with appearance in mind.

"Yes," Chiana confirmed. She wasn't able to turn to look at Tacer due to her neck brace. "I look like a frelling old lady shopkeeper!"

Tacer laughed. "Don't worry about *that*, Chiana. Everyone here wears the uniforms, so as a consequence any males you might want to impress would be able to... infer... what's underneath the uniform. Trust me on this."

John gave Tacer a sharp look. //Is he *flirting* with Chiana?//

"Tacer, you stole that verbatim from the creche-exit program," Lashan said, approaching the group from down the hall, in front of them. "You can head out now. You know which transport, right? I've hopefully arranged it so there won't be anyone around on the Spear, but if there are, Zhiv, you go ahead and order them out of the way. As soon as you get them set up in the -- uh -- Vaultlike area, Zhiv and Shahin are dismissed to their assignments in medbay. Tacer, I hope you've packed?" At Tacer's sigh and nod, she pressed, "Everything you need?"

"*Yes* Lashan," Tacer grumbled as she took off again. "Makers..."

//Yes, she's definitely his older sister.// John looked around as they started forward again. This was his first view of the planet outside the 'Vault'. The buildings all looked uniform and utilitarian and the ground was paved -- it very much looked like the military base it was. No one else was in sight as they followed a path between buildings to what was clearly a landing area.

"There's our transport," Tacer said, pointing ahead. "Who's piloting?"

"Me," Zhiv replied, practically daring Tacer to make a comment. Wisely, Tacer didn't, and the medic continued, "But I'd like you to run the systems check while I get Chiana strapped in. Shahin, stick the Interion in a seat, and then you're dismissed."

Shahin gave an exaggerated sigh of relief. "May I never meet another Interion ever again."

Once they reached the transport's passenger section, Zhiv got John loose from the mobile chair. "How are you feeling? Experiencing any head pain?"

"Uh... is there some reason I would?" John asked.

Zhiv nodded, and said ruefully, "Your analgesic dosage has been cut dramatically. You're only getting about as much now as I give people with nuisance injuries."

That was *definitely* good news, especially if it was accompanied by a reduction of other drugs -- like tranquilizers. "So what do you have me on now, anyway?" John asked, sinking gratefully into one of the chairs.

"Well, a few painkillers, the end of a series of treatments to back up one of your earlier treatments -- before you woke up -- and most recently a series of immunity treatments."

"Immunity-- Like, vaccinations?"

Zhiv nodded. "We don't have very many diseases, but there are some... strains... which turn up from time to time. To be safe--"

Chiana interrupted him with a groan. "Not another support board!"

"Sorry," Zhiv said, moving the support board in question into position. "If it makes you feel any better, this won't last much longer." He carefully and quickly transferred Chiana from the mobile chair to the backboard. "After we get to the Spear, I'll release you with just a brace..."

"Everything checks out," Tacer called, strolling back to the passenger compartment.

Zhiv rolled his eyes. "...partially because Tacer would be completely incapable of enforcing the backboard situation."

"*Not* true." Tacer sat down. "He's going extra slow, you know. Stalling."

If looks could kill, Tacer would have been in serious trouble. "I'm being careful," Zhiv bit out. "Not. Stalling."

"He's probably in love with Joolushko," Tacer continued as if he hadn't heard.

Zhiv turned to John. "Crichton. If I kill him right now, will you back me up to Lashan that it was completely justifiable?"

"I don't know what you'd complain about without me, Zhiv..." Tacer looked after Zhiv as the medic disappeared to the control room with a last exclamation of disgust. "Of course, the real reason he was stalling was so we could delay turning you over to anyone if it came to that. Well, and he is overly careful most of the time, too."

Chiana laughed a little. "Doesn't want to have to do his work over again, I guess -- lazy."

Tacer smiled. "That's Zhiv." He was working at a small control panel. "I'm bringing up our viewer so you can watch the ascent. Assuming Zhiv starts the ascent any time soon." Even as he spoke, the vessel jerked slightly. "Ah."

"The seatbelt light is on," John murmured, than looked at the screen, which was showing the garrison falling away beneath them. It was bigger than he expected, and surrounded by what looked a whole lot like crop fields. //Well, this *is* supposed to be an agricultural planet.//

"Sarac Central garrison," Tacer said. He sounded almost proud. "Not that impressive to look at from above, but that is a fully equipped garrison, plus three creches and all the equipment you need for an agricultural installation. Do you see the fields?"

"Yes." The fields in question were being worked by both people and machines. "Are those the permanent residents down there?" John asked.

"I don't see any right now..." Tacer replied. "See, everyone there is in uniform. That means they're part of our division, just stuck on agricultural duty. The permanent residents live over... there! See that compound?"

John nodded. While not as large as the garrison, it still had a faintly military air. "So who *are* the permanent residents? Natives?"

Tacer shook his head. "No, no. I don't think Sarac ever had any natives. The permanent residents are descendants of -- um -- people who were agricultural workers that way our progenitors were soldiers. There aren't as many of them, because they weren't able to defend themselves when the Makers started purging... Most of them alive today aren't, uh, pure anyway. Every now and then a kid'll turn up with Elite traits, and will be transferred to a training unit. Even more occasionally there'll be a kid with no Elite traits, who will get transferred to an agricultural planet. Well, unless they're getting some other indications-- You get the idea."

"Mm-hmm." Details were becoming invisible, and soon John could see the planet *as* a planet, with greeny-brown continents, blue-violet oceans, and polar icecaps. Despite the color of the oceans, it looked a lot like Earth. //Now is not the time to get homesick.// "How much of the planet do you occupy?" John asked curiously.

"Not a lot, proportionally speaking... we aren't the only agricultural planet in the rotation-jurisdate, and the farming methods are pretty intensive, so we don't need too much. About... a quarter of one continent, I guess. Someone else could tell you. I think the Makers had the entire continent farmed before the revolt. The other continents are undeveloped. And beautiful." Tacer smiled. "We call them the wilderness. Training units go there for -- well -- training, and other people can get permission for excursions. I love it out there. Wish you could have visited."

"I would have liked to see it," John said, a little wistfully. "I'm almost surprised you're not swamped with colonists."

Tacer shrugged. "It's our reputation, mostly. And most people don't want to settle on a planet they'd never be able to leave. But some of the other agricultural worlds do have small refugee colonies, or natives. Here, um--" he tapped the controls "--that's the Spear."

The vessel which replaced the planet on the screen was significantly smaller than a Leviathan or command carrier, but still pretty impressive. //But not, I think, impressive enough to take out a command carrier, much less a dreadnought.// "So, uh... are these your usual ships? I mean, the ones which do border patrols?"

"Not all of them," Tacer replied. "The Spears do some patrolling. But you can't fit a whole division onto a Spear -- not comfortably, anyway. Mostly Spears are attached to planets, or stations, or some other localized base."

"I can't see," Chiana complained.

"Just a big gray ship, Chiana. In fact, more of a medium-sized ship." John eyed the screen. "Spear is the classification? I heard someone mention a Javelin earlier... Do you call your fighters arrows?"

"No, we're on an Arrow -- combat-capable but bigger, less maneuverable. Fighters are Daggers and Needles," Tacer said. "You've caught on to our... inspired naming system. Generally our ships are named after weapons we don't even use, and never have used, with names we borrowed from a primitive society on one of our agricultural planets. I always used to keep suggesting we give the individual vessels names, like other species do, and the rotation-jurisdate council actually said that would be all right!" Tacer shook his head in mock wonder. "I suspected Lashan bribed them, but she said she didn't, and a lot of people suggested names before we voted. Some of the names were very... comforting." His lips curled in a smile. "I worry that Elite don't have enough of a sense of humor -- but we are officially about to board the ~Repulsive Upholstery~."

"*Repulsive Upholstery*?" John repeated incredulously. "You named your ship ~Repulsive Upholstery~?"

"It's not *my* ship, it's a Spear attached to Sarac," Tacer corrected. "And *I* didn't name it, there was a rotation-jurisdate vote. And just wait until *you* see the carpet. People don't call it by name much, though," he added.

"I wonder why!"

# # #

They exited the Arrow-transport -- which was apparently named ~Dorenn~ after somebody's creche guardian -- into a docking bay holding quite a few other ships. John would have loved a chance to take a closer look at the... Needles or Daggers... but Zhiv hurried them quickly through the docking bay into a corridor, mumbling something about letting people get back to work. This time Zhiv pushed the mobile chairs and Tacer carried Jool, slung over his shoulder, without any apparent effort. The kid was stronger than he looked.

Zhiv led them to a very securely locked door. As they entered the room, John heard a faint hum, then a narrow beam of light hit him *right* in the eye. "Ow!"

"Sorry," Zhiv said. "Retinal scan. I'm overriding it. Tacer, can you get them settled in by yourself? I need to get to the medbay."

Tacer nodded. "Yes, sir!" Zhiv shook his head and left. "All right, first I have to put Joolushko somewhere..." He looked around the room, which was quite small, and finally deposited Jool on a table. "Look, um, we're going to be in pretty close quarters." He paused. "Uh, specifically, there's only one sleeping chamber. Six bunks, though. I expect you three will need the three floor-level bunks, which is fine, since I don't mind an upper one..."

"You're staying here, too?" Chiana asked.

"Yes. Lashan doesn't want any trouble."

"From us?" John asked incredulously. "I'm flattered, but--"

"Not her... first concern, though I *am* supposed to keep you from trying to leave and getting stunned or running into people who shouldn't know about this." Tacer chewed on his lower lip for a moment. "Some of it is she doesn't want any trouble from *me*. And then... Lashan trusts the crew she brought along. But once we reach Bastarrex... there are a lot of people she doesn't trust."

//So he's here to protect us, too.// John sighed. "Okay, before Jool wakes up and freaks, let's see the luxury suite."

# # # # #

Much as Scorpius expected, his Elite visitor showed no outer sign of being disturbed or intimidated, either by the Peacekeeper soldiers surrounding her or Scorpius himself. Her energy signature said much the same thing -- calm, collected, and completely unafraid, looking cooly back at him as he inspected her. She looked much like most of the Elite he'd encountered before, Sebacean in shape with facial markings in a pattern only another Elite would fully understand, short fur covering her head, wearing a blue-gray flight suit, carrying -- had been carrying -- two sidearms and a knife, and of only average height and build. Appearances were deceiving. She would be stronger than a comparable Sebacean, with more endurance, greater healing ability, and more acute senses.

The Elite's creators, he reflected, had done good work.

She was the one who broke the silence first. "Scorpius," she said. "I suspected this was your command carrier. I'm pleased I was correct."

"Is that so?" he asked, sensing the expected verbal sparring match fast approaching. "Why is that?"

The Elite cast a casually contemptuous glance at Braca. "You are, to start, less likely to exhibit the common Peacekeeper failing of rejecting one's assistance because of one's genetic origins." She paused, glancing around at the other Peacekeepers present. "You are also the most educated recipient of this information."

That would be the point of her visit. Scorpius wondered, again, what exactly her purpose was. She had to have come for a reason -- but she hadn't said whose orders she was carrying out... which quite possibly meant she had no orders. "Go on."

She looked at the other Peacekeepers again before she did. "Are you familiar with stories about an installation called Bastarrex?"

He paused before answering. "Yes. Do you propose to tell me more?"

"I *propose* to give you its location."

That got the attention of everyone in the room, even the guards. Scorpius quickly reevaluated the situation. "Your people have discovered it?"

"The Elite have always known Bastarrex's location, but they have now gained access," she corrected. "Soon, steps will be taken to protect it from outside interference. Your opening for action is now, before Elite launcher-vessels reach Bastarrex. If you hurry, you might enter Elite territory before the border is sealed -- which they will do when they realize the information has... escaped."

"So you are here against orders." She didn't reply, which was answer enough. "Why?"

"Our commanders refuse to see that the only way to protect ourselves from the Scarrans is to ally with the Peacekeepers." Her tone was quiet, but serious. "They... delude themselves into thinking we can hide indefinitely behind declarations of neutrality. You know that's impossible."

"Indeed." She was telling the truth. He could certainly understand her motivations. But -- she was offering no guarantees of what the storehouse contained. And he could not afford the distraction of taking the command carrier into Elite space after a rumor -- never mind what High Command would think of it. Well, what was command for, if not greater resources? "Braca, order Lieutenant Venbren to assemble a crew for a Vigilante to accompany our informant back to Bastarrex." After Braca acknowledged, Scorpius turned back to the Elite. "You have no objection?"

"A small group has a higher chance of success," she replied calmly. "If the crew will work with me, I will work with it." Almost as an afterthought, she added, "I would like to request Peacekeeper protection following this mission."

He imagined she would, with her people furious. "I'm sure something can be worked out," Scorpius replied. "Especially if the mission is successful." There, added incentive -- she already needed the protection.

The Elite nodded. "Sir," she said, and went to prepare.

And who knew? She could turn out to be a very valuable asset.

# # # # #

Aeryn jumped at another groan from the environmental ducts, then cursed herself for doing so. Bastarrex had been slowly coming to life ever since her arrival -- she thought it had been about three solar days. The atmosphere seemed to be nearing standard levels and had been breathable, more or less, for almost a day.

Actually, the noise from the ducts was welcome. Aeryn didn't think she'd ever felt so alone. She'd probably never *been* so alone, by herself in a facility meant to house thousands if not millions. The silence was oppressive.

Silence was unbearable; she turned to exploration. She had been fortunate enough to select, in her escape, what was apparently a habitation level, containing innumerable barracks -- the base's crew complement would have put a command carrier to shame. Most fortunately, the level included emergency ration storage. //The base is sealed for how many hundreds of cycles, and the ration bars are indistinguishable from the ones the Elite gave me earlier...// Although whether that was good or bad she couldn't say. Some -- most -- of the barracks looked simply empty, abandoned. Some of them looked as if they had been abandoned by very disorderly soldiers. In a few of the latter, she found small robots reminiscent of DRDs, powered down and silent. Investigation quickly revealed their power cells were exhausted. Aeryn thought they might have been cleansers, never instructed to power down once their work was complete...

Bastarrex reminded her of the ~Zelbinion~, she realized. //Everywhere you look is nothing but death and ruin.//

Hiding forever wasn't an option. She had to get *off* Bastarrex. There had to be ships stored here *somewhere*...

Unfortunately there was a lot of *somewhere* to choose from.

To avoid possibly drawing attention by using the lifts, she used emergency access ladders which were fairly easy to locate. Aeryn climbed down five levels, one of the ladders *very* long, before finally finding one that wasn't habitation, and *it* was maintenance. She explored several storerooms of equipment before walking into a generator room. Only one of the five massive generators seemed to be active. Aeryn looked at the tech consoles, but none of the readouts meant anything to her -- they were all in 'technical Ashkren.' More importantly, she was fairly sure someone must have beat her to the room, unless the generator had been running all the time... which she supposed was possible... and there weren't any signs of recent repairs... //Enough. There's no reason for me to stay here, and plenty of reasons to leave.//

After *another* ten black habitation levels -- her arms were getting sore -- she reached a blue level. Aeryn was hopeful, in light of the blue in the Elite's uniforms. //That is, if they've at all kept to the color-coding.//

They had. The blue level -- which still had no power for its own lighting -- contained training grounds, firing ranges, exercise areas, numerous simulators, and what she was *sure* was an armory, by the firing ranges. //I just need to open the frelling door.// Well, without much power... Aeryn went ahead and broke the door down. She was rewarded by a security system going *fizzle*, and an impressive assortment of weapons.

//This is one of those strange weapons like they Elite were carrying.// Aeryn hesitated, then took it out to the firing range to see what it did. Standing on one of the lines, she aimed at a target and pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened.

It did make sense not to store loaded weapons. Sighing, Aeryn returned the unidentifiable sidearm to its place and found a pulse pistol and pulse rifle that suited her needs. Fortuitously, they attached easily to the Elite thermal suit. The fatigues she wore beneath the suit, Aeryn recalled, had similar hooks for weapons. Very considerate of the Elite to give her one. She collected plenty of chakan oil cartridges, loaded both weapons, and went on her way.

The next level down was white. While still in her access conduit, Aeryn noticed the huge coils surrounding the level -- some sort of field was being generated. //Eliminating gravity?// She was very cautious about entering the level, but as it turned out the corridors were unaffected by the apparent stasis fields.

The reason for the stasis fields was blatantly obvious. This was a morgue. Bodies were laid out in neat, orderly rows, stripped and numbered, unchanged from the day they'd been placed there. They all looked like Elite. Aeryn noted numbly in passing that the markings did, indeed, extend past the face.

And then, oddly enough, as she drew nearer the lifts, came rooms where bodies weren't stripped. And then weren't arranged, but thrown in. And showed signs of violent death.

And then there was a room filled with dead children. Most had died from a simple pulse blast to the head, but others had clearly gone down fighting.

//No wonder the Elite hate whoever built this place.//

Aeryn shuddered, and returned to the conduit.


	10. ** 9 **

They didn't share a direct border with the Scarrans or the Peacekeepers -- thank the Makers for *something* -- but they were uncomfortably close to Charrid-frequented space. And really, the Uncharted Territories were too close to being a buffer zone for the Peacekeepers and Scarrans. They *would* have forces nearby.

"Lashan?"

But since Central Jurisdate was acting quickly to seal the border, they might be able to convincingly make it just another Elite quirk, not specifically directed at their... neighbors. Well, convincing enough to avoid a war, anyway. They *had* to avoid giving the impression that they were deliberately thwarting either of the major powers. That would be doom. Not to be melodramatic.

"Lashan..."

Unfortunately, there was that one command carrier lurking near the border, Makers only knew why. Doing wormhole research, better still. And with Hajen... gone... it was very, very likely that they would know about Bastarrex soon, if they didn't already. //If they respond cautiously, we have... more of a chance.// Maybe the very nature of Hajen's approach -- coming out of nowhere offering aid, asking for very little in return -- would inspire suspicion, however earnest she was. //How's that for irony.// She didn't like relying on Hajen and the Peacekeepers' reactions for--

"Lashan, are you paying any attention to me at all?"

Sealing the border immediately was a good idea, no matter what was happening. "Yes, Tacer, I am. Aren't you supposed to be with our guests?"

"They're asleep, the segment is sealed, and I kind of suspected you'd still be awake." He perched casually on top of the table-height disc projecting a slowly rotating starchart, a little ways from her desk. "I also note an untouched, and compared to mine rather tasty-looking, shipboard ration."

"Tacer..." She glanced up. "You know no one likes it when you sit in the holograms."

He remained where he was, crossing his arms. "So, what's the situation? What's the plan? Got any orders yet?" Tacer paused, a smile playing around his mouth. "I'm all ears."

"You're *what*... No. Never mind." //I ought to be used to that sort of thing by now.// "Yes, actually, as surprising as that is." Lashan blinked rapidly a few times, trying to focus on Tacer. //Too long on the computers.// She blanked the console and reached for the ration. "We've received orders. Not that they were particularly helpful. I am to do whatever is necessary to avoid involving us in a war."

"Oh. As if we didn't know that."

The orders said a little more than Tacer understood, but she wasn't going to tell him that. //Not until I have a better idea what I'm going to do.// "They've closed the border at least. The first border patrol ships have already started reporting in that they've seeded their section with detection satellites, warning beacons, and communications mines, and are ready to respond to any incursion. I hope... I think... that this will keep any large ships out." It would keep them from getting in undetected, anyway. Even if a command carrier or dreadnought somehow managed to shield itself from the satellites' scanners, it couldn't get past the blanket without bumping into a few, which would immediately notify the patrols. If they were following regulations -- which they had better be, in a nearly-war situation -- either a Spear or the Launcher itself would be within a solar day's range, with its complement of Needles.

Tacer nodded slowly. "Umm... what about our people outside our space? And the commerce planets?"

"The commerce planets are locked down. If this lasts long I expect they'll allow the offworlders to leave our space, with an escort, of course. Our people... tricky question. No consequences for them if they manage to sneak back in, but failing an attempt to sneak in has nasty consequences, and we can't afford even to look the other way." Lashan sighed. "Given what Central Jurisdate's sending out as notification, I think -- I hope -- most of them will find a place to lie low."

Tacer shifted, pulling his legs up onto the projector and folding them. "It sounds like they have things under control..."

"I'd say that too, if it weren't for Hajen. But if it weren't for Hajen, they probably wouldn't have sealed the border." Lashan rubbed her still-stinging eyes. "Frell Etael anyway."

"For opening this whole can of worms?"

She stopped and looked at him. "Tacer, you're starting to make me regret assigning you as their advocate." She should have known better than to assign him somewhere where he'd encounter a whole new language. And whole new idioms. "And once we reach Bastarrex, I want all the Human words and phrases you've picked up *out* of your vocabulary. Iber doesn't know about our guests and I want it to stay that way."

Tacer nodded again. "I don't think he'd notice, but of course. You know I'll do anything I can to help, Lashan."

"I know." And she might be able to use it... she had to think...

"What aren't you telling me?" Tacer asked after a microt.

Lashan shrugged wearily. "The person in charge of the situation at Central Jurisdate is Jurisdator Captain Magvell Awkenna." Well, and that wasn't all of it, but some things *should* stay confidential.

Tacer clearly recognized the name. "Oh. Wait, I thought... Didn't he get his entropy-stripe a cycle ago? He did, I remember, that's the reason Etael went from obsessed to *really* obsessed. I thought he'd have transferred to a border Needle squad any day now..."

"I think he was planning on it, but they asked him to come back when this... came up. Not that I'm unhappy, exactly... he may have the best chance of anyone of finding the right course through this mess... but I'm not sure what he's going to do. Especially trying to instruct us poor captains in politics over the comm."

"He might be better off trying to get Etael to back off... though it's a little late for that now." Tacer considered. "So, anyway, is Etael weight on your side of the scale or mine?"

"Depends on the day." Lashan blinked again. Her eyes felt much better. "Thanks for coming by, Tace... but I have to get back to work."

"Trying to mind-read Magvell. Good luck!" He hopped off the table, then stopped, peering at one of her data flimsies, then picked it up. "You're taking notes in Artistic Ashkren? You spelled a word wrong."

"Works better than code." Except for Tacer, of course, who read the stuff better than she did. Lashan sighed and collected her flimsies again, glancing at the latest sparse orders she'd received and the null symbol that concluded them. //Frell Magvell.// "Now go away. You have work to do, too, recall. What would Zhiv do to you if the Nebari got out of her neck brace while you were here pestering me?"

# # # # #

"Chiana!" Jool hissed in a piercing whisper. "What are you *doing*?"

John blinked sleep from his eyes. It took a minute for him to recognize his surroundings as their rather crowded quarters on the -- ha -- ~Repulsive Upholstery~. Admittedly the carpet was a horrible olive green -- //barf green// -- but you just *didn't* name a ship something like that. Certainly not a big ship other people would have to use. Couldn't they just change the carpet? Why had they put it in in the first place...?

He returned to the present. They were on the horribly-named Elite ship, in their quarters, it was the middle of the sleep cycle and dark except for a very dim nightlight, and someone was moving around. Something clattered.

"What does it look like I'm doing, Princess? Now be quiet, you'll wake Crichton..."

"Too late," John said, rolling onto his back and trying to see just what Chiana and Jool *were* doing. In the darkness, he could barely even see movement. "Pip? Jool?"

"Crichton! Make her stop!" Jool said. "She's going to paralyze herself--"

John groaned. "Chiana, leave the neck brace alone."

"It reminds me too much of a collar," she replied. "Stop it, Jool!"

"It's to protect your spine, Pip. Do you really want to risk gettin' paralyzed just to placate your fashion sense?"

"It's not fashion, it's... it's..." Chiana protested, trailing off. "I don't know. But I really hate it. And you heard Tacer, Zhiv's just stalling." The rustling noises began again as she worked at the neck brace.

"No, you can't -- ow!" Jool exclaimed. "You slapped me!"

"Well, stay out of my way!"

"Pip, Jool's tryin' to *help* you--"

"Let go of--"

"No you don't--

"*Both* of you--"

John was the only one to notice when the door opened. Tacer stopped in the doorway, silhouetted against the slightly brighter light of the hall, then reached for the wall toggle and turned on the main lights, making everyone squint. "You know, if Zhiv finds out you've been having a fight on the floor, it will be really, really unpleasant. And leave the neck brace alone." He waved Jool out of the way and carefully lifted Chiana back into her bunk. "It's there for a reason. Sometimes vertebrae take a little time to... resettle, I guess... in the correct positions. There's enough musculature in the back to hold them in place, but the neck's a lot more vulnerable. You could cause serious damage." Tacer checked the neck brace, readjusting part of it.

"But isn't there some other way of bracing it?" Chiana asked plaintively. "Instead of this -- this -- *collar*!"

//Oh...// "Bad dreams, Chi?" John asked gently.

Chiana reluctantly started to nod, but couldn't on account of the brace. "*Yes*. Crichton, tell them I don't need it anymore."

"I'm not the doctor..."

"Zhiv is the doctor," Tacer interrupted. "And if you do anything to damage your nice new spine, Zhiv will break *my* neck. And I like *my* spine the way it is."

"Too much like a collar..." Chiana said again, but she looked defeated.

Tacer leaned on the closed door. "I can get you a tranquilizer if you like. Or we could play a game of tav'rel in the next room, so long as we get out of *here* -- Crichton practically looks asleep, and Joolushko Tunai Fenta Hovalis looks like she *wants* to be asleep."

Chiana gave Tacer a look. "Why do you keep using her whole name, anyway?"

"I don't know." Tacer shrugged. "The right names for things are important. Names are parts of language, and all languages have... nuances... and if you aren't careful you'll miss them. I work hard at finding the nuances. One of the good things about our... physiological oddities is we can sort of listen past the translator microbes -- makes it a lot easier to learn new languages. I learn as many as I can."

"Lashan said something like that," John replied.

"She's the one who gets to hear most of it. It's just a pity none of you can really appreciate it..." Tacer smiled a little. "The practical purpose of being able to learn other languages is that with practice you can tell the difference between someone actually speaking your language and someone you can only understand through microbes."

"So it's an infiltration trick?" John wondered why he was discussing Tacer's hobby instead of getting some more sleep.

"Well... not for *me*... and all of us have the ability, not just infiltrators--" Tacer broke off. "I'd better not say much about *them*. It started out for that purpose, I think. But sometimes it helps to understand something if you can hear it in the original language." He turned back to Chiana. "So, tranquilizer? Tav'rel?"

Chiana looked reluctant. "I don't want to keep you awake..."

"I wouldn't be sleeping. Got a text I want to read."

"All right then. Tav'rel."

In the morning -- well, at the end of the sleep cycle -- John learned that Chiana had eventually gotten a few arns of sleep, after learning that it didn't work very well to cheat on a game you didn't understand very well. Tacer, fortunately, had just laughed and told her to practice.

Shortly after lunch, Lashan commed Tacer to tell him they'd reached Bastarrex.

# # # # #

The inhabitants of the pale green level must have been the powerful of Bastarrex. Aeryn had been shocked when she emerged from her maintenance shaft to find what looked like a light blue-green sky over a broad swath of low vegetation, punctuated by elegant, fanciful *buildings*, so it wasn't a training ground. It only took a second look to see that the sky was a simulation, produced by hologenerators of some sort affixed to the ceiling, and she wasn't sure about the vegetation -- how long could real vegetation have survived with the base's main power turned off, presumably plunged into darkness? -- but the buildings were real.

This had to be a careful -- and shockingly inefficient -- facsimile of a planet.

//Not even the most corrupt Peacekeeper captain could get away with this.// Frell, none of them would *think* of it. It was appalling. This level took up the vertical space of at least two, possibly more, of the basic personnel levels, and most of the space was *wasted*. A gravel path meandered lazily across the... landscape... connecting the buildings, which themselves were delicate in appearance and served no purpose. //Never mind appalling, this is *absurd*.//

Of course, if these were the residences of the -- elite over the Elite -- she might finally have found a place with no surveillance devices. Aeryn picked a building and started towards it. Finally, an opportunity to simply lie low...

Since her escape, Aeryn had spent more time on ladders than she had ever wanted to. It had gotten to the point that she really wished it was safe to take the lifts, which could surely be detected from one of the control areas. //I wish I knew whether they're actively searching for me.// If they weren't, she could probably remain hidden indefinitely. Bastarrex was so... big. //And no wonder they needed an entire asteroid, if this much of the space is wasted.//

It was too bad she hadn't been able to find what she needed. Oh, she had provisions and weapons, but *somewhere* in the frelling asteroid there had to be a docking bay. There were probably *many* docking bays. And surely *one* of the docking bays would have a ship with controls she could decipher. One *had* to. She wouldn't accept any other possibility. //I want to get off this frelling *rock*!//

The dwelling wasn't locked; she carefully entered, pulse rifle at the ready. As expected, there was nothing there beyond silent furnishings just as silly-looking as the exterior. Aeryn searched the rest of the building before finally deciding it was safe, or safe enough to at least get a little sleep. She was so tired. Aeryn settled herself on a couch with a good view down the sweeping staircase, and fell asleep, until the next day of determined exploration.

# # # # #

Lashan crossed over to the Bastarrex orbital by herself in a Dagger, partially so she could do a flyby of the installation itself, and see what had changed -- and there were changes. She had to admit, they'd been fast. For one thing, sensors now clearly indicated that this was no ordinary asteroid. It looked like Etael had gotten a substantial portion of it powered up. //Of course she did,// Lashan told herself. //She had to to run the main computers.// Probably the first thing she'd done. As for other things... there were one or two open docking bays where before there had been only rock, and though Lashan couldn't tell with the Dagger's limited sensors, she was sure the magnetic field that fried most electronics on contact was off. Bastarrex was now accessible -- and vulnerable.

Neither Iber nor Etael were on hand to greet her when she landed in the orbital. One of the duty techs was able to tell her that Specialist Etael was in Bastarrex -- of course -- and Captain Iber was off duty.

This was absurd. Captains didn't go off duty. Ever. That was the cost that went along with the great privileges captains enjoyed -- eccentricities, they were called, as in the usual statement of "Captains are entitled to a few eccentricities." Like, for example, never dressing in uniform, or hauling one's discipline-impaired brother after one like an extra appendage, or smuggling alien prostitutes onto one's ship.

//No, actually, the privileges are probably compensation for the lack of off time. The lack of off time is a direct consequence of the amount of *power* captains have.// Which, in their own divisions, was practically absolute. Of course, these days very few installations had people only from one division...

"I'll have to go find him, then," Lashan replied. The techs looked neither shocked nor surprised. Well, maybe she'd misinterpreted things -- maybe they were using 'off duty' as a synonym for nonspecific duty. That was when captains slept and exercised and did other things the lesser-ranked did in off-duty time. //Yes, well, with Iber it's the 'other things' we need to be concerned with...// Lashan had never personally -- uh -- interrupted him, but she'd heard stories. Many stories.

She found Iber quickly -- he was in his quarters. Lashan hit the intercom button and announced, "Iber, this is Lashan Estaver, I've just arrived, and I'm coming in in ten microts!" She then released the button and stood patiently, hands clasped, for ten microts before opening the door and walking into Iber's main chamber. It was empty. "Iber?"

"Can you wait a *microt*, Lashan!" he called from the sleeping chamber.

//Well, that was unexpected. Ha.// "Should I take that literally?"

There was an unintelligible reply, then a clear "Frell you."

"Not likely!"

"Of course not," Iber retorted, entering the main chamber only half dressed. "You still take eztegine, don't you."

"I have Tacer, I don't need any other distractions," Lashan replied promptly. "Get your jacket on, Iber, I'm here to talk strategy, not rehash old arguments." As captains in the same rotation-jurisdate, they knew each other fairly well, and could work together, even if they did find one another annoying. "I take it Etael has been typically uncontrollable?"

"Specialists are always uncontrollable," Iber replied, fastening his uniform jacket, "and Etael Estrenet is the worst. I've *tried* to limit the damage..." He scowled. "On that subject, I have found the people who helped Hajen leave. They're confined pending further action."

Lashan merely nodded -- not her place to criticize that, especially since he was handling it well enough, it seemed. "I think Hajen's -- sudden departure -- wasn't expected by anyone. Even the person who... mentioned the issue to me only seemed to anticipate some hard lobbying. Not actually leaving to find the Peacekeepers. And bring them back."

"We are sealing the border," Iber said. "Surely--"

"There's a command carrier within close range," Lashan replied softly. "They have a good chance of crossing the border before it's fully sealed. They may have already."

Iber swore viciously, hooked his foot around a chair, and kicked the chair across the room. It clattered noisily against the wall, but damaged nothing. "Maker-frelling Hajen-- They couldn't get a command carrier in unnoticed," he said finally, having vented. "Marauder? Marauders?"

"Marauders or more. I'm anticipating a message to that effect from one of the patrol divisions any time now -- that they've been detected, I mean. I don't know how far the word will have leaked."

"The Scarrans will be coming," Iber predicted. "Or Charrids at least... I suppose we could handle Charrids."

Lashan considered. "Probably. The Scarrans wouldn't be terribly offended by vanishing Charrids. I do *not* see why the Scarrans allied with them at all. Just as front-line casualties, I suppose. We'll have to keep a watch for Scarrans. I'd be a lot happier if Jurisdator Magvell would actually send useful instructions of some sort." //Watch how he reacts...//

"Magvell. Right." Iber frowned faintly. "Have you gotten *any* orders?"

Yes. He'd gotten it, too. //Definitely something to make him take this seriously, though...// "Null symbol?"

"You, too?" Iber lowered his voice. "Officially I'm ordered to abandon Bastarrex if Scarrans *or* Peacekeepers approach, that what might be gained is simply not worth the risk. But then there's the null."

"I've been told to avoid causing any difficulties for any expeditionary forces, and that who holds Bastarrex is not important enough to commit any troops to. Nulled. But after the null they reiterate not to involve us in a war." Lashan sighed. "Only the Elite could have such a... *ludicrous* concept. *Nowhere* else would anyone actually cooperate with it. Not on much of a scale, anyway." She shook her head. "We need to talk strategy."

"Agreed. Just a microt." Iber returned to his sleeping chamber; Lashan could hear him speaking quietly. It brought something else to mind, which she voiced when he returned.

"Hypothetically speaking, Iber, if you had someone in there, who would it be?"

Iber was no doubt very used to this sort of conversation. "Hypothetically, a drifter off one of the commerce planets. Of course, if I did have someone in there, I would have had this hypothetical person thoroughly examined by medical and my counterintelligence detachment, so one need not hypothetically worry about any prearranged information transfers from this hypothetical person."

Lashan grinned. "Understood." She sobered. "Correct me if you disagree. My understanding of our orders -- our real orders, not the official ones -- is that we are to deny full access to Bastarrex to any other interested parties, without starting a war."

"I understand it the same way, too. Is it possible? With forces already on their way..."

Sighing, Lashan paced across the room, looking blankly at Iber's vidchip collection. No doubt he could identify all of them by their codes. "In addition to outlining our neutrality, Jurisdator Captain Magvell was also the primary author of the texts on the Doctrine of Acceptable Losses, applied to politics."

Iber blinked. "All right, I think I missed that one. How the frell did he do that?"

"To give you a general idea of its nature -- he got the basic idea from the Ashkren. Exceeding orders. Denial of responsibility." She grimaced. "Abandoning your troops to political expediency. You know that, given the wording of the orders, Central Jurisdate can convincingly claim they ordered us to comply with Peacekeepers or Scarrans, or at least stay out of the way. We, the Elite, get what we need in keeping these... groups... out of our space, and if they need someone to blame--"

"It's us. Of course." Iber scowled. Not that this was unheard-of, of course. The Ashkren had done it rather frequently.

Not much of a recommendation.

"Or not," Iber continued. "Standard procedure would actually be to pass this down the line, wouldn't it?"

//Sacrificing someone else instead. What a pleasant prospect.// Lashan shook her head. "No. I won't do that. This is my responsibility."

"Think," Iber countered. "Do you really believe Central Jurisdate wants you to sacrifice yourself? Everyone says you're a remarkable captain--"

"Spare me."

"And everyone knows how hard you try to work with Central Jurisdate. You'd make a very unconvincing renegade." Iber paused, apparently struck by a thought. "Where *is* Tacer, anyway?"


	11. ** 10 **

"Frell!" Hajen said softly.

Venbren looked up from contemplation of the pilot's console -- it was the first time he'd heard the icy Elite swear. "Do you have something to say?"

"That stray comet isn't a comet. It's a surveillance beacon."

Frell, indeed. Venbren turned on the sensor tech. "Explain this oversight!"

Hajen interrupted before the tech could say anything. "I doubt your sensors could detect the beacon, not without substantial recalibration. It's designed to be camouflaged. I simply happen to have seen that particular... rogue comet... before. It's usually used on the borders; I expect that it's been moved since the border will be filled with detection satellites, rendering it superfluous." Hajen abandoned the sensor console and moved to communications, casually crowding out the tech. "I'll access its recent logs."

"You'll -- what are you doing?" Venbren hated being confused. "Destroy it!"

"It's too late," Hajen said. "It transmits constantly. We've been detected; it was going to happen eventually. Destroying it accomplishes nothing. However, I may be able to access its logs and see what else has been in the area... there. It needs to be decoded." Her fingers flickered, then she walked to another console and started working.

No one seemed to be quite sure what to do. Angrily, Venbren waved for them to continue. He was growing to hate Elite. This one ignored his command structure as if she felt she was obliged to obey no one's orders but... Scorpius's.

Venbren's mood worsened. //Frell, the bitch is probably *right*.// "Well? Is there anything there?"

The Elite's calm attitude didn't waver. "I believe there's one Spear attendant at the Bastarrex orbital, no more. It's unlikely a Vigilante could destroy a Spear without taking serious damage, but they will withdraw to avoid confrontation when they realize this ship is approaching. There are Launcher ships patrolling the border not far away, though, so caution should be exercised to avoid presenting an apparent serious threat." She glanced back at Venbren. "If this ship sets course for a planet, for example, it *will* be destroyed."

Not likely, but no point in getting into an argument. "Anything else?"

"Not of interest, merely a record of vessels in the area and of course its current high-priority transmission of our presence, but... no. Wait." She frowned at the console. "That shouldn't be here."

"What? *What*?"

The Elite moved so Venbren could get a good look at the display on the console. "This ship. It's not an Elite vessel. It shouldn't be here." Her fingers flew across the controls, calling up text that Venbren couldn't read. "It's a modified freighter, no identification code... No one could get across the border in *that*." She frowned again. "Oh. Trajectory... yes. That explains it. Partially." Fortunately, she elaborated almost immediately. "It's on a line from one of our commerce planets. There must have been an insufficient lockdown, and this... intruder took advantage of the confusion of the border closing."

"Does this have any relevance to our mission?" Venbren asked.

"When the beacon detected the ship it was on a direct heading for Bastarrex," the Elite answered. "I hadn't thought the information would have spread..." Her mouth flattened into a thin line. "I need to adapt a communications receiver to scan Elite frequencies."

He was rapidly feeling more and more outdistanced. "I thought they were encoded."

"They are. But some codes are general knowledge, and my concern here is other warnings of border incursions." Hajen looked unhappy. "If the Scarrans have gotten word of this... If they *have*, they can not be allowed to reach Bastarrex."

For once, Venbren wholeheartedly agreed with her.

# # # # #

The image of the unidentified ship hovered over the projector in the Bastarrex orbital's command chamber, the hologram flickering only slightly on account of the half-empty rishta mug and the stack of needle cartridges sitting on top of the projector -- it had proven virtually impossible to keep people from using the hologram projectors as tables. The hologram's quality was not the best, of course, since it came from only a few surveillance beacons, but it was adequate. The still image of the ship displayed no movement or activity of any kind, merely peacefully rotating in place.

The three Elite gathered in the command chamber were considerably less peaceful.

"How the frell should I know what it is?" Lashan asked, disgusted. "Well, actually, *what* it is is a modified cargo hauler. But don't ask me who's piloting it, because there is *no* reason why I would logically know."

Etael sighed loudly. "If it's *so* important we should know, you should comm the division on the commerce planet and ask if they can identify it."

"We've already done that much," Iber replied, and quickly tapped at the projector's controls. The cargo ship was replaced by another, immediately recognizable shape -- Peacekeeper Vigilante. "If we can return to the subject, Etael, we need to pull out *soon*. We need to take what material we have and get it onto the... ah..."

"Don't say it," Lashan groaned. "The Spear, all right?"

"Right, you had to come in the ~Repulsive Upholstery~, didn't you." Etael smirked. "Well, look at the good side of things, Lashan. Isn't one of the border patrol Spears called ~Mivonks~?"

//This is ridiculous.// "Etael, once again attempting to return to the subject, you need to take what you've found. You've had quite a while to work in there. We're leaving very soon." Lashan waited for the inevitable complaint.

"Lashan -- Iber -- with all due respect--"

//Oh, Makers. She's not happy.//

"We have spent a lot of our time just activating many of Bastarrex's major systems. We've found very little of any importance, and none of our primary objective--"

Iber interrupted. "No one has ever agreed on our primary objective."

"Well, I doubt we've reached any of them!" Etael looked from captain to captain. "We need more time."

"Orders from Central Jurisdate, Etael. Peacekeepers are on their way in -- we *have* to leave."

Etael looked distinctly unhappy. "Frell Central Jurisdate. They want us to give the Peacekeepers access to all that?"

"They want us to avoid starting a war." Lashan had the feeling she'd be having a very similar conversation again soon. //I just hope Tacer can interpret what the orders *really* mean... Frell, I don't believe this.// Lashan rubbed her eyes. "Etael, we might have been better off if you'd left that key where you found it." The sudden silence was somewhat... suspicious. Lashan looked up. "What?" She frowned. "What is the key, anyway? You've never told me."

Iber and Etael exchanged unhappy glances, but Iber cleared laid the entire burden on Etael. The specialist eyed the Vigilante to avoid looking at Lashan. "The key is... lost."

"Lost," Lashan repeated. "How did you contrive to do that?"

"I didn't *contrive* to lose it!" Etael snapped. "And I do know where it is... roughly..."

When Etael trailed off, Iber put in, "Bastarrex."

"You mean 'it' got loose and ran off."

"Roughly, yes." Iber sighed. "Really attractive, too. Pity."

Lashan sometimes wanted to throttle him. "So the key is in Bastarrex. Somewhere. Alone. And has been for some time." Nod. "And you weren't going to tell anyone." Another, reluctant nod. Lashan took a deep breath. "Etael. I'm going back to my ship and getting transports ready to move you, your team, and your findings safely off the base. Iber. Tech work needs to be coordinated for the tow line." She nodded to each. "I really have to leave."

//Now comes the hard part.//

# # # # #

John was trying to teach Chiana and Jool how to play chess on one level of the tav'rel board. It wasn't a particularly enjoyable pursuit, since both of them had professed themselves bored sick almost immediately, and it was very difficult to keep track of which polyhedrons were supposed to be which chess pieces, and the board wasn't quite the right shape, but it was better than nothing. //Or it's better than Pip and Princess complaining about doing nothing.// Not that John was thrilled with the situation, either, but Chiana and Jool had made it especially clear that they were *not* happy campers. Tacer, usually good for some entertainment, was absent. //I was kind of under the impression he was supposed to be keeping an eye on us, but...//

Jool made a move, starting John from his thoughts. "No, sorry, princess, that's how the knights move."

"This *is* a knight," Jool protested. "And I *still* don't understand what a knight's supposed to be."

"I already explained what a knight is, it doesn't matter, and it's not. It's a bishop."

"I was going to say rook," Chiana put in. "Why are we doing this?"

John sighed. //You know perfectly well why.//

Absolutely nothing had happened since they arrived at Bastarrex, it was almost unbearably tedious in their very tight quarters, and yet the aura of tension around them was rising steadily. Tacer had disappeared a few times over the last few sleep cycles. Once he'd admitted he was accompanying Lashan down to Bastarrex, but mostly he claimed to be going for some exercise, if he told them anything at all.

//Speak of the devil...// John looked up from the game as he heard voices from outside their quarters, one definitely Tacer and both definitely angry.

"We can't just leave this place to the Peacekeepers!"

"We can't just start a war with the Peacekeepers, either, Tacer. You know better than that."

"And you think this won't cause just as much trouble in the long run? Stop being an idiot!"

"We *have* our orders from Central Jurisdate!"

"And of course you wouldn't *dream* of disobeying orders." Tacer's voice dripped sarcasm. "Central Jurisdate can go frell itself!"

By the time Tacer stormed into their quarters, some time later, John, Chiana, and Jool were all looking at the door. The young Elite stopped when he saw them looking at him.

"You... hear very much of that?"

"Um, yeah," John replied. //Even with my deficient hearing, it'd be a little tough not to have heard.// "What's up?"

Not so much as blinking at the slang, Tacer walked to the food dispenser and collected a water bottle before slumping into a chair. "There's a Peacekeeper Vigilante on its way here. It'll only be a few solar days. We're under orders to pull out, avoid all contact, and avoid all provocation." Tacer sighed heavily. He looked tired and worried -- not at all usual expressions. "Lashan says she's going to follow orders. She and I just had a few discussions on orders, chains of commands, responsibilities... plausible deniability..."

//Plausible deniability?//

Jool's response was immediate and predictable. "What about us?"

"Sent to Central Jurisdate, I think. After that, I have no idea." Tacer glanced thoughtfully up at the ceiling. "I need to think about some things... How's your neck?"

"Uh, better," Chiana said, taken aback. "I really think the brace could come off..."

"Well then, let's see." Suiting actions to words, Tacer leaned across and did something to the neck brace's fasteners, and it came free. "There, bend your neck a few times. Gently."

John held up his hands. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! Should Pip really be doin' that?"

Tacer gave him a measuring look. "Zhiv would certainly disapprove, but I need to see how well it's doing. And how are *you* doing? Vertigo going away?"

"Uh, yeah, mostly. Tacer, what's goin' on?"

"It's... a long story." Tacer suddenly got up and made for the door. "I'll be back."

The remaining three occupants of the room exchanged mystified looks.

//What's going on with *him*?//

# # #

Tacer had been gone for about an arn when he returned -- through the floor. Fortunately, Jool wasn't present when a small section of floor abruptly slid back and Tacer climbed up into the room, dragging what looked like a very large duffel bag. John, who was present, fell off his bench. "How the frell did you get..."

"Access conduit," Tacer said as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "Had to use my authorization to get in here, of course, but finding the way wasn't much of a problem. And I did look at a schematic first."

"Okay..." John said slowly. "And... *why* did you decide to use the back entrance?"

"Because we'll all be leaving through it," Tacer replied briskly. "At least, if you agree."

"We're -- what?" John had the feeling he'd somehow missed something. "Maybe you'd better start from the beginning, Tacer."

Tacer opened up the duffel bag. "Well, it's pretty straightforward. You want -- I assume -- to escape so you're not shipped off to Central Jurisdate for Makers only know what sorts of things, I want to take definite action to keep the Peacekeepers or Scarrans from finding any of the weaponry in Bastarrex so all sorts of terrible things don't happen. We are, however, surrounded by people who are obliged, by inclination or duty, to keep us from doing so. Cooperation seems entirely logical to me."

Chiana stared at him. "Are you offering to help us escape?" John elbowed her. No sense in pushing him.

"Well... yes, actually, when you put it that way," Tacer replied calmly.

//All right. Something's happened.// John decided now was not the time to ask and maybe prompt Tacer to change his mind, but still... //He had a fight with Lashan. Few arns later, he's offering to get us out of Dodge.// There had to be a connection. Poor kid.

"Escape?" Chiana pressed. "Just like that?"

"I was thinking more of a deal," Tacer corrected. "I get you off this ship and, later, out of Elite space."

"And in return?" John asked carefully.

Tacer shrugged. "You help me blow up Bastarrex."

Chiana's jaw dropped. "Blow it *up*! Are you fahrbot?! There's supposed to be treasure in there that'd--"

"Kill a lot of people," John interrupted. "No, I see why he wants to do this. What we have to do with it... not quite so clear." He looked at Tacer. "You need help to do this?" Tacer nodded. "And you can't ask anyone else?" Tacer nodded again. "I can guess why, but if you wanna tell us anyway...?"

"Because any other Elite would be courting desertion and mutiny charges," Tacer replied quietly. "And about a fifth of our captains just shoot mutineers."

"You think your own *sister* would shoot you?" John asked.

Tacer shook his head dismissively. "Lashan's not in the fifth. And no, I doubt she'd shoot me even if she was." He snorted. "Depending on how mad she gets... well... I don't know. I'll just say I have a better chance than any other crewmember here of getting the charges dropped. Eventually." Tacer smiled ruefully. "She'll be pretty mad, of course. But anyway, I'm willing to take the risk, and you three don't face charges for doing this. Prisoners try to escape. It's normal. Even expected."

John nodded slowly. "Okay."

The young Elite's face lit up. "You'll do it?"

"Well, if we're supposed to be escapin' from here, we need to get a move on." And Tacer was right. Any advanced weapons in the storehouse should stay away from the Peacekeepers. "Oh, but one condition."

"Mmm?" Tacer was already pulling things out of the duffel.

"You get to tell Jool."

"Sadistic creature," Tacer retorted. "I brought you field fatigues and boots and full field packs. We need to move quickly. You two start getting dressed -- they can go right over the off-duty uniforms -- and I'll talk to Joolushko Tunai Fenta Hovalis."

//He's *still* saying her full name!// John quickly found the fatigues intended for him and started struggling into them. "C'mon, Pip, don't want to look a gift horse in the mouth..."

Even Tacer stopped to blink at him after that.

As it turned out, John had plenty of time to examine the 'field packs' Tacer had brought while Tacer and Chiana bullied Jool into fatigues. John *strongly* suspected that Tacer wasn't nearly as pragmatic as he sounded when he threatened to assist Jool with her clothing if necessary. //If we're gonna be trying to blow up a base, they're gonna have to stop picking fights.// At any rate the field pack he checked held food, water, breath mask, a handheld computer gizmo... rope... //Is that a climbing harness?// Small case holding some pre-prepared injectors, bandages of some sort, blanket, Elite flashlight equivalent, small technical toolkit, another case attached to the side of the pack holding--

//Chakan oil cartridges.// John pulled one out to make sure, examining it before putting it back alongside some peculiar blue and red ribbonlike things. //This is good. Oh yeah.//

"But note they haven't given you a pulse pistol to go with the ammunition, John."

John winced. Harvey looked like a... Harveyesque... version of G.I. Joe -- but at least Tacer was occupied with Jool. //I thought we'd agreed to try not to convince Tacer I'm completely insane, Harv. What are those ribbony things?//

"How should I know, John? I'm not an Elite." Harvey frowned around the room. "This course of action is unnecessarily risky. You should reconsider."

//I told you not to make Tacer think I'm insane. And frell off.// John closed the pack and started putting on his lovely new boots. Compared to Peacekeeper leather boots, they looked somewhat... uncool... but they fit. "How's it comin'?"

Tacer smirked. "She's changing. You look like you're about ready to go... How steady on your feet are you?"

"Oh... not bad. What's next?"

"Umm..." Tacer looked away. "We crawl back through the access conduits to one of the hangar bays. I've picked a ship to hide on."

John frowned. "Problem. With her spine transplant and all that, can Chiana handle the crawling?"

Tacer cocked his head, looking across the room -- not a great distance -- at Chiana. "I don't know. Not sure. But if she can't, I can tow her without too much trouble."

"Don't talk about me like I'm not here!" Chiana said. She wove over to stand next to John and Tacer, obviously still *un*steady on her feet. "And no way are you going to tow me. You're barely taller than I am."

"I'm stronger than I look," Tacer replied mildly, then shook his head. "Maybe I *should* tow you. If you did anything to damage that spine crawling around--"

"Zhiv would kill you, you've said so already." Chiana hefted a field pack, only to have it snatched away by Tacer. "Look, I'm not about to shatter!"

John raised his hands placatingly. "Better safe than sorry, Pip. We're just tryin' to avoid gettin' you paralyzed. How's Jool?"

"Changed. Finally. Can we get on with this?"

Eventually, Tacer grudgingly gave in and let Chiana crawl, although he insisted that she not wear a field pack. Tacer entered the conduit first, of course, since he knew the way. John went last, because he was the only one who quickly grasped Tacer's explanation of how to put the access panel back in place from underneath. The conduits were dark. There were only dim blue lights at junctions, and though Tacer seemed to be having no trouble John found himself growing somewhat disoriented. He firmly squashed Harvey before the neural clone could offer any trademark bad advice. The conduit wasn't silent -- even if the ship hadn't hummed softly all around them, Jool was keeping up a running whine on the indignity of having to crawl, her knees, Elite, her clothes, her boots, the stupidity of all of Crichton's plans...

"Princess!" John hissed indignantly. "This was *not* my plan!"


	12. ** 11 **

"It's very simple," Tacer repeated in a whisper. "We get on the ship. We hide in the crates. The crates are offloaded at Bastarrex. We get out of the crates before someone opens them. Very simple."

"Unless it goes wrong!" Jool hissed. "You'll get us all--"

"Sedating you would make this a lot more difficult, but *not* impossible," Tacer warned. "You have to stay quiet. In fact, no more talking from anyone unless there's an emergency. I worked really hard to time this correctly, but it would be way, way too easy to mess up." Suiting actions to words, he gave Jool another *look*, then mimed talking with one hand -- funny how almost the exact same ~blah, blah, blah~ gesture was used here as on Earth. Tacer then used the hand to imitate an injector to the neck.

Jool apparently got the message, and shut up.

Tacer finally stopped, and after gesturing again for silence, pulled out a few tech tools and started working on one of the conduit's sides. To John's not-exactly-expert eyes, it looked like he was unsealing something that maybe wasn't usually unsealed. Finally, a circular panel slid aside, and Tacer held it there, waving for them to go through and turn right. "It's a bit tight," he breathed as John passed him.

He wasn't kidding. To his dismay, John realized they were going to be belly-crawling. //I hope we don't have to go very far like this!// For that matter, he hoped he wasn't going to have to ask Tacer to tow *him*. It was also very dark -- completely unlit, he thought. //I think people aren't usually in here...//

Tacer came through the hole last, letting the cover slide shut behind him. The Elite activated a very dim light attached to a wristband just long enough to indicate that they should follow him, to the left. In the dark.

//To be fair, it's not like we're going to get lost. Having no turnoffs helps.//

After what felt like an eternity of squirming through the tube, John finally saw a dim light ahead, coming down from the top of the tube. The tube ended immediately after it. Tacer stopped under the light source and rolled onto his back, looking up and probably listening, too. Noise was filtering down into the tube, indistinct voices and the growl of machinery. It took a while before Tacer seemed satisfied with what he heard, and reached up for, presumably, controls.

The light increased as a grate slid aside. Tacer slithered up through the grate. After a moment, his hand reappeared and beckoned Chiana to follow.

It felt like another eternity before it was John's turn to squirm through the grate into, probably, a docking bay, staying as flat as possible. Tacer immediately turned him towards a nearby ship and indicated that he should creep under it -- Tacer had to replace the grate.

John didn't see Chiana or Jool under the ship, but he did see where they might have gone. The ship was being refueled, or something -- several thick hoses disappeared up into the ship through a hatch in the bottom. //Although it looks like another tight squeeze...// And frell, Tacer had mentioned hiding in crates, too. John had a feeling he was going to be *very* sore by the time this trip was over.

Sure enough, when Tacer crawled over he pointed at the little hatch. John made a face at him before squeezing through. Tacer followed.

John emerged into what was clearly some part of the ship's propulsion system, and probably *not* a part that people were normally in. Chiana and Jool were just ahead, through another open -- and very small -- hatch. At least there was space to sit up in the small chamber beyond. Chiana looked exhausted, but she gave him a weak smile.

Tacer, still bringing up the rear, closed the hatch into the chamber before whispering, "We can take a short break here. The next part's a bit tricky."

"The *next* part's tricky?" Jool replied, thankfully also in a whisper. "What do you call the last part?"

"Also tricky. But horizontal." Tacer pointed up. At another hatch. "It's not too far, only about one and a half retspans, but it's as narrow as the atmosphere duct."

"Is that what that was?" John asked absently, looking up at the hatch. Climbing. What *fun*.

Tacer nodded. "They vent atmosphere into and out of the docking bay. No sense in letting perfectly good atmosphere vanish into the vacuum."

Jool's eyes widened, and she opened her mouth again, but Chiana clapped a hand over it and spoke instead. "So we were in a shaft which is periodically exposed to vacuum?"

"There are plenty of safety measures. If it started venting there were a couple of failsafes I could have hit to cut the duct off from the venting and let the others take the load. We would have been caught, but not decompressed."

John sighed. "Do I wanna know what this thing we're in now is usually used for?" he whispered.

Tacer appeared to consider, then-- "No. You don't."

//I'm gonna be wondering what it is until he tells us,// John realized. "Um... assuming it's *not* someplace we wanna be hangin' around for too long... maybe you'd better explain how we're going to be gettin' through the 'tricky' part."

With a shrug, Tacer agreed. "It'd be best if you could just climb, but since that's not very likely, I'll get out a rope and help pull you up."

"Really."

"I said *help* pull you up. Don't look at me like that." Tacer sighed melodramatically. "Why doesn't anyone ever believe I'm stronger than I look? But anyway, when we do go up, we have to get into an access conduit as fast as possible. Then it's just a really short crawl to cargo storage."

"Where we get to hole up in crates for hours."

"Well, yes..."

//Wonder if Jool's much of a chiropractor?// John winced. "We'd better get goin' before I lose my nerve."

It was, in fact, Jool who lost her nerve, but between them John and Tacer were able to get her up the shaft. A retspan, apparently, was about six feet. John, again, went last and got only a brief glimpse of what had to be an actual room before he was back in a conduit. Happily, Tacer had been telling the truth about the distance of the crawl to the cargo hold -- they practically just had to cross the conduit to a hatch on the other side.

Also happily, the crates weren't as small as John had feared. Not that it was luxurious, but he could at least sit up normally.

Now they had to wait.

# # # # #

Drumming her fingers quietly on her desk, Lashan eyed the evidence that not only did some members of Central Jurisdate have a sense of timing, they had a *terrible* sense of timing. This had to be the worst possible moment that this message could arrive. And because of the reason that it was the worst possible moment, she couldn't even complain about it properly... She couldn't even check to see if it was already too late to back down. It probably was, of course, and not being able to check lessened the likelihood that she'd panic and try to back down, but it was frustrating.

The whole situation was frustrating. //In other words, hopelessly frelled up.//

That name, though... //He might be the wrong age entirely, but it's worth asking.// Lashan pressed the comm button on her desk. "Communications?"

The coordinator on duty responded immediately. "Captain?"

"Yes, Coordinator... Calleh, isn't it?"

"Yes, Captain. Orders?"

Lashan smiled. Right down to business. "I need a secure connection to Specialist Etael... wherever she is at the moment."

"Shouldn't take long at all, Captain." There was a brief pause. "Captain."

Before Lashan could thank the coordinator, she'd been switched to the secure connection and Etael was requesting an explanation for the interruption in less than diplomatic terms. "Yes, Lashan. I'm here. *Trying* to sort out items that can be transported. Bad enough that we're being ordered away so quickly, but could you at least let us use what time we have to--"

//Can't let her get started.// "Have you ever heard of Specialist Grovas Estrenet? That's your creche designation..." It was also, Lashan was fairly sure, a creche intended for future specialists.

"Yes, I've heard of him. Yes, we were crechemates." Etael sounded... guarded. "Why do you ask?" She paused. "No, wait -- *please* don't tell me he's coming here. I spent a great deal of time and effort trying to keep him *off* the Bastarrex project. His solution to anything is some form of explosive device. No -- of course he's not on the project. The project has been *suspended* because of frelling Peacekeepers--"

//Still not in a good mood, I see.// "So you're trying to say he's a weapons specialist?" Lashan interrupted.

There was a disgusted snort from Etael. "Oh, yes. The more destructive, the better. The little aithgra used to try to build fission bombs in off-duty time, nearly gave all of us radiation poisoning, never mind what would have happened if one of the things had detonated--"

Well, they'd definitely met. "Do you know what his current project is?"

"No. Doubtless finding ways to cause even more destruction at one time. Although I heard they suppressed his singularity proposal. Can I get back to my work now?"

"Yes, Etael. Sorry to disturb you." Lashan broke the connection -- really, she'd heard everything she needed, and nothing terribly surprising. 'Suppressed his singularity proposal,' indeed. //Sounds like a menace.// Someone who researched singularities and weapons and built fission explosives before he was out of his creche would *certainly* be interested in wormholes.

And, unfortunately, he also sounded like exactly what she'd been afraid of all along.

"Brilliance and amorality are a bad combination," she mumbled.

There were small favors -- his specialist rank wasn't nearly as high as Etael's, only enough to lead a small task force rather than an entire operation. And he certainly didn't have the rank to contend with a captain on her own ship, if it came to that.

It wouldn't come to that, though. She hoped. Nobody needed that right now. //Though I still don't believe I actually agreed to this... plan.//

Lashan resisted the temptation to go and see whether or not Tacer was sulking in his quarters.

# # # # #

The worst thing about the crate wasn't that it was cramped -- although it was -- or dark -- which it also was -- or that it kept thudding sharply into the wall every time the ship made a sudden maneuver, which resulted in some bumps and bruises. Those were unpleasant, sure, but manageable. The worst thing was that there was nothing to do but sit and think. About Scorpius. About wormholes.

About Aeryn. //God, I hope she's all right.// Things between them had been... strained... but he worried about her, and he was afraid she wouldn't have hesitated to try to track the Marauder after she'd dealt with their pursuit.

John had learned enough about the Elite to know that he, Chiana, and Jool had been lucky to end up in Lashan's jurisdiction -- she had been unusually lenient. And even those who'd investigate an out-of-control Marauder might be far less curious about a *in*-control Prowler.

Standard procedure for 'incursions' was to issue a single warning, and if it was ignored, to destroy the intruder. John suspected Aeryn would ignore most warnings most of the time, and lately, she wouldn't even bother to be subtle about it. //Please, let her not have followed us. Let her be back on Moya, and let all of them be safely a long way away from here.//

How they were going to find Moya again when they were out of Elite space he had no idea.

//That's assuming Tacer's plan even works.// John wished he knew more of the plan's details, although he had a sneaking suspicion there there *were* no more details. //He probably has it planned out as 'get in, blow place up, leave,'// John reflected glumly. //Not that it's any worse than most of our plans. I just hope we can find the thermal exhaust port to the main reactor.//

Was he imagining things, or had the hum of the ship around him changed slightly in tone? Tacer could no doubt have told him, but--

There was a very slight shudder throughout the ship, and then the humming started to stop. They'd arrived.

//Well, that didn't take too long. Shouldn't be surprised -- just going from orbit to the surface. More or less.//

Knowing they'd be coming to unload the crates soon, John concentrated on staying perfectly still and silent. Hopefully they wouldn't notice that four of the large crates were significantly heavier than the others. //Don't pay any mind to me, I'm just a bunch of packing peanuts...//

The voices he heard were muffled considerably by the crate, but he could still pick out the words. "*That's* big. Just what is Specialist Etael expecting to bring back?"

"I don't know... giant generated creatures with big teeth?"

"Not in an unlocked crate. Maybe she's after the furniture..."

"Uh-huh. Get the loading door open so we can get these things out."

John couldn't really gather much from the ensuing clatters, thumps, and thuds. A few microts later, however, someone began shoving his crate across the... cargo hold, he guessed. //Don't notice me, don't notice me, don't-- Whoa!// John bit back an exclamation as the crate was shoved right onto some sort of incline, which it slid down before falling over, causing John to bang his head. //Frell, frell, frell... Be a little more careful, will you?! There are people trying to stow away in here...// John rubbed his head and waited, not especially patiently, through more clatters and crashes before the voices finally moved away.

At long last -- very long last -- the top slid off the crate, and Tacer breathed, "Time to go." John tried not to feel satisfied that there was a reddish pre-bruise on Tacer's forehead. Apparently he hadn't been the only one to get a rough ride out of the ship.

With Tacer's assistance, John managed to climb out of the crate without so much as a clatter. "Did you know they were going to throw us out?" he whispered.

"No, but I should have guessed." Tacer was barely audible. "You can yell at me later. Some crew is still on the ship doing postflight checks. Crawl over there behind the Needle -- the fighter -- and stay low. Try and keep the Interion quiet when she gets there. And oh, yeah..." Tacer grabbed the straps of the duffel and handed them to John. "Could you take this? Should be a pulse pistol near the top, that's for you."

John nodded and obeyed, although his muscles weren't too happy about the crawling part. It did give him a chance to take a quick look around the docking bay. It was very big and a rather oppressive dark gray. He saw floor grates which probably led to atmosphere ducts like the one they'd crawled through back on the ~Repulsive Upholstery~. //I still can't believe anyone would name a ship that.//

On the other side of the Needle, positioned so he couldn't be easily seen from the ship they'd just left or from the door which presumably led to the rest of Bastarrex, John stretched out on the floor, trying to relieve his cramped muscles, before opening up the duffel. //Pulse pistol, pulse pistol... aha!// Smiling, John took the gun and closed the bag. It was, of course, a recognizably Elite weapon, with a different style, different weight than the Peacekeeper guns he was used to, and it was certainly no Winona, but it'd do.

It didn't take long for the other three to join him behind the 'Needle.' Jool looked very... unhappy... probably because of getting shoved off the ship. Chiana looked sore, but not too badly so. All in all, they looked at least capable of trying whatever Tacer had planned.

"Where now?" Chiana whispered.

Tacer nodded towards one of the atmosphere grates. "Through there, then down into a maintenance level. Don't worry, it'll be a lot wider than the last duct, and it's not very far to go."

"You been here before?" John asked.

"Looked around a few days ago," Tacer replied, then froze. "Someone's coming, stay still," he breathed.

The Elite who walked back into the docking bay made no effort to hide his presence. From behind the Needle, only his boots were visible as he crossed over to the transport. "Raxi!" he called. "Are you done yet? Specialist Etael has an assignment for us, and we'll need those flash detonators... where'd I put them..."

"Check the medium crate with the red flagging, maybe?" The other Elite exited the ship out the loading hatch, jumping over the crates to the floor. "What are those things for, anyway? I hadn't thought Etael of all people would be destroying things behind her..."

"She's not." The newcomer's voice lowered. "The progenitors and precursors who were here during the revolt, and didn't get away..."

Beside John, Tacer caught his breath sharply, then bit his lip. That obviously meant something to *him*. //Progenitors are their ancestors, precursors are other created people who aren't Elite. But their relevance here is...//

"Oh." Raxi's voice was equally soft. "They're still in stas-storage?"

"Yes. The medics want to take some back to examine, but Etael doesn't want to leave the rest here for the Peacekeepers, or whoever, to find."

"For a lot of reasons. I can see that." A soft sigh. "For once I agree with Etael completely, fahrbot specialist that she is."

"Uhh. I think..." There was almost a catch in his voice. "I think you'd have to be a lot more fahrbot than Etael... I talked for a couple hundred microts with one of the soldiers who's been escorting the specialists all over the place. She said -- I mean, not that we didn't know this -- should have guessed it -- *I* don't know -- she said there must have been creches here."

Tacer squeezed his eyes shut and bowed his head.

"Let's get the flash detonators down there. They've waited long enough..."

The voices and footsteps died away. Tacer did not immediately look up. When he did, he seemed to be blinking back tears. "Better get going," he whispered hoarsely, and crawled over to the grate to the atmosphere duct.

As promised, the duct was much wider than the last one, wide enough to stand up in. Thinking on the impressive size of the docking bay, John guessed it wasn't surprising. They only had to walk a hundred feet or so before Tacer -- still clearly preoccupied and distressed -- found a sealed panel in the floor of the tube, unsealed it, and let them drop down to the maintenance passage below.

"This is no conduit," John remarked, after Tacer had resealed the hatch behind them. The corridor had a low ceiling, yes, but it was recognizably a corridor.

"Well, this is no ship," Tacer replied, then stopped, looking surprised at the sound of his own voice. "Sorry..." He looked even more surprised when a tear leaked out of one eye.

"What's the matter?" Chiana asked. She hadn't missed Tacer's expression, either.

"Just... what Tfarrn told Raxi back in the docking bay... I hadn't thought of it..." Tacer shook himself. "Lashan told you, when the revolt broke out the Makers started killing all the Generated they could. It was... a lot harder to get away from an installation like this, and too hard to take it over. There would have been a lot of people here. Even if half -- even if two thirds of them got away, it leaves... a lot of people who didn't." Tacer shook himself again, swallowing. "It... sounds like their bodies are still here, in stasis."

"And the creches?" John asked, pretty sure he wasn't going to like the answer.

Tacer swallowed again. "Kids," he replied shortly. "I... I'm sorry. It's... a bit of a... shock, I guess. Just a microt." Tacer turned away from them, taking a few deep breaths and scrubbing fiercely at his eyes. John averted his eyes, almost embarrassed, but after a few microts Tacer was, indeed, back to business. "We need to keep moving, get somewhere where no one will come. I think one of the old habitation levels will do. Come on."

Their trek to the maintenance lift went without incident. Jool had evidently been subdued by Tacer's clear distress, and didn't even complain about her feet hurting. None of them spoke until they were in the lift, after Tacer had waved his hand indecisively over the controls a few times, then hit one apparently at random.

John cleared his throat. "Uh... do we know where we're going?"

"Another maintenance level. I'll check the local schematics when we get there." Tacer leaned wearily against the lift wall and closed his eyes. "I never thought deserting would be this much *work*..." After a moment he sighed and swung his duffel off his shoulder. "While I'm thinking about it, I have some more weapons, one for each of you." He pulled out three funny-looking pistols, handing one each to John, Chiana, and Jool. "Needler."

John regarded the weapon. This, apparently, was the purpose for the blue and red ribbony things he'd seen with his chakan oil -- there was blue ribbony stuff in the gun. "What's it do?"

"Fires needles. Almost microscopically thin, very high velocity, disintegrate quickly upon penetration." Tacer sounded a little proud. "Blue ammunition is a strong, fast-acting sedative. Knocks almost anyone out within microts."

"Clever," Chiana said approvingly.

//That could be handy, yes.// "And the red?"

"Umm... lethal, messy, and not usually used. If any Scarrans turn up we'll want it, though." After a pause, Tacer added, "I didn't give you yellow-green, but in case you find any, it's a fast-acting neurotoxin."

"Fun." This, John realized, must be part of the reason their smallest fighters were called 'Needles.' //Probably more to it, though.// "You'll, uh, have to show me how to reload it."

"Course." Tacer straightened as the lift finally stopped, and led the way out into another maintenance level. "All right. Now we need to lie low for a few days..."

"And then it's off to blow the main reactor!" John finished.

Tacer turned to look at him oddly. "Sorry?"

John sighed. "Um, the main reactor? Like a power generator?"

"Well, yes..." Tacer still looked a little taken aback. "But Bastarrex is the size of an asteroid. It's a little big to have *one* main reactor." The Elite shrugged. "In order to be at all effective, it'd be too big to be *safe*. The Makers were arrogant, but they weren't that arrogant."

"Oh. Okay." John ignored Jool's disdainful look and followed Tacer down the corridor, one thought foremost on his mind.

//All right, Lucas, hop in with Spielberg and Roddenberry...//


	13. ** 12 **

Tacer had drifted off arns earlier, stretched out on a bunk still wearing his boots, the bruise on his forehead already purpling. Under pressure, he'd admitted that he hadn't slept much ever since the ~Repulsive Upholstery~ got to Bastarrex, although, he insisted, he'd only applied the stimulant patch the day before. Truth or not, he hadn't lasted very long after peeling the patch off the side of his neck. Chiana had conked out, too, not as fully recovered as she'd been claiming. For her part, Jool had taken advantage of Tacer's slumber to abandon the needler practice he'd insisted upon and take a nap herself.

That left John the only one awake in the long-abandoned barracks... unless you counted G.I. Harvey... and why would you want to do that?

"Really, John, I'm hurt. I try to offer a little help, and all I get is ingratitude."

"And how exactly have you helped, Harv?" John murmured. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, looking at some 'hardcopy schematics' Tacer had produced from his field pack before confessing about the stim patch. Hardcopy seemed to be used about like paper, but felt more like cloth or vinyl. John still hadn't figured out quite how to interpret the schematics, but he was getting close. "Your advice has been even worse than usual. Or maybe I should say *nonexistent*... but wait, that'd make it *better* than usual, wouldn't it. My mistake."

"You wound me, John. How am I supposed to do anything to help when you keep telling me to go away?"

"How am *I* supposed to do anything if you convince Tacer I'm crazy?" John retorted. "So maybe I am, but that's not the point... Look, do you have something to say? 'Cause if you don't, get lost. I'm busy." John returned his attention to the schematics, which displayed, Tacer had said, the typical layout of a Bastarrex habitation level.

The clone loomed over his shoulder. "It is fascinating, isn't it. I never imagined the Elite were hiding so much."

"Lucky for them," John retorted.

Harvey shook his head, looking regretful. "No, I doubt High Command would have approved a major... excursion. Not when we *still* don't know how they destroy command carriers -- why don't you ask Tacer?"

"Yeah. I'll be sure to do that. Scram."

Unfortunately, Harvey didn't seem inclined to do so. "Actually, I feel quite sympathetic with the early Elite," he announced after a microt. "Created and treated as *things*, never fully accepted, subjected to innumerable indignities..."

"Like you never do that to people," John muttered, distracted. He was trying to do some mental arithmetic, bunks in room times rooms in block times blocks in sector times sectors on level-- //Whoa.// That equaled a *lot* of soldiers. It also equaled a lot of space to hide in, which was why they were on a habitation level. Otherwise, there wasn't much for them there. John pulled out the next schematic which, if he remembered Tacer's explanation of the color-coding correctly, was violet for medical, with an orange dash for research. Tacer had actually marked this one, circled a few locations and scrawled some notes -- the Elite used styluses that marked hardcopy on one end and at the other were used on computer interfaces -- but of course John couldn't read it.

//Hmm...// There was one immediately apparent similarity between the two schematics and, John found quickly, the rest of the schematics as well. They all had an empty circle in the middle. It was clearly labeled -- in Elite, or Ashkren, or some other indecipherable script. //What could it be?//

"Maybe Tacer was lying about the lack of a main reactor?" Harvey suggested.

John shot him a dirty look and turned back to the schematics. "Warp cores aside, this doesn't look much like a reactor."

"'s a docking shaft," Tacer said, startling John, who hadn't realized the kid was awake. He'd propped himself up on his elbows and was blinking sleepily at the schematics. "Like a docking bay, only it can hold really really big ships. Who were you talking to?"

"No one," John replied quickly -- he hoped not *too* quickly. "Just talkin' to myself. Humans do that sometimes. What do all these marks mean?" He waved at a cluster of scribbles.

"Uh..." Tacer didn't seem to be fully awake yet. "Um, that's actually just a reminder to myself about what antitoxins to bring. I got all of them, don't worry."

//Antitoxins? Why the frell would he need antitoxins?// "We, uh, expectin' to run into some toxins?"

Tacer shrugged. "Not expecting. Just erring on the side of caution. After all, we have no idea just what the Ashkren left in their labs." Sitting up, Tacer stretched, yawning. "I think I'll see if I can intercept some of Etael's transmissions, so we'll know when we're clear. First thing I want to do after that is get to a command level and disable anything that Hajen might be able to use. Well, after we get a good overview of the place."

"Who's Hajen?"

"Right, no one told you..." Tacer bent and began to rummage through his duffel bag. "She disappeared from the division stationed at Bastarrex orbital shortly after they unsealed the place. Since Hajen's always been known for rather... extreme politics, we're operating on the assumption she went to the Peacekeepers."

John nearly choked. "Peacekeepers *know* about all this?"

"Not about you," Tacer reassured him hastily. "But about Bastarrex. I snuck a look at the sensor readings, and they're sending in a Vigilante. Not so bad, really. Even if they somehow figured out we were here, without internal sensors they could have their entire crew complement searching Bastarrex for days without finding us." He looked upwards, speculatively. "It's too bad the levels are all color-coded or they'd probably never find anything at *all*. Ah, well. Back to the practical." He started assembling something from the pieces of equipment in his duffel.

# # #

They spent a little more than a solar day in the abandoned barracks before Tacer's comm receiver picked up the transmissions from the Spear as it towed the orbital away from Bastarrex. Specifically, it was a conversation between technicians on the ship and the orbital, discussing how much stress the tow lines could take. The discussion was starting to become rather heated when Tacer turned off the comm. "All right, time to find the central command level." John was happy to agree -- the room wasn't getting any more interesting.

They found the correct lift some time before Tacer finished explaining the differences between the various lifts, so he broke off and instead started explaining the color-coding in more detail. Black, as they'd seen, was barracks and provided a safe place to hide because there was nothing interesting there. Gray-green was command, gray was maintenance, blue was 'combat-related,' violet was biological science, including medical, red was physical science, including a lot of munitions, white was cold storage, anything marked with orange was research, yellow was power-grid related, dark red was ship-related, pale green was Ashkren off-duty areas, and brown was environmentals. John made him stop before he started explaining the overlaps.

"I'm just trying to help," Tacer murmured.

"I know, Tace, but I think we're all hopin' we won't need to know all that. Or at least, we don't want to hear all of it right *now*. I'm sure it's fascinating, but..." He didn't want the lengthy description. John had vowed to himself after they'd arrived that he would not provoke any more problems by looking for wormhole data in Bastarrex, and he wanted to avoid temptation.

"Tace?" Tacer asked, his eyebrows arched.

"He calls everyone strange things," Chiana said sympathetically. "Sorry."

Tacer shook his head quickly. "No, I don't mind... I was just surprised, that's all. Usually it's only Lashan who calls me that."

"I didn't realize it was a previously established nickname," John remarked. //That might mean it's reserved...// "You're sure you don't mind?"

"No, no, it's fine. Back in--" Tacer broke off as the lift finally halted, the doors opening. "About time. You'd think in a place this big they'd make the lifts faster."

John followed Tacer out of the lift, looking around curiously. The gray-green of the command level bore a certain resemblance to the ugly green on the ~Repulsive Upholstery~. //Maybe the Ashkren found this an attractive color.// It wasn't quite as bad, but still... "Which way do we go?" he asked softly.

"Um... this way, I guess. I'll check a schematic when we find one."

No sooner had they turned the first corner when they all saw a blur of motion ahead of them in the corridor. Tacer quickly shoved Jool back into the cover of the cross-corridor they'd just left, trusting John and Chiana to scramble on their own, all four of them sprawling in a heap by the wall. There were several bangs, like unusually quiet gunfire. John disentangled himself and drew his pulse pistol. "I thought you said the Peacekeepers weren't here yet?" he hissed.

Tacer shook his head. "They aren't!" he hissed back. "That's a needler."

"One of--"

"It can wait! Let's get to the lift!" Tacer emphasized his words by giving Jool a push in the right direction, then waving for John and Chiana to go ahead. "Go, go! They'll be coming to investigate any microt."

They ran for the lift. Jool, happily, recognized the controls to summon the lift and hit them immediately. The doors, however, did not open immediately, much to John's disgust. They'd barely left the lift -- where could it have gone? Whatever the reason, the doors only opened at about the same time as a head appeared around the corner. Tacer fired his needler in that general direction to make it go away, then followed the others.

Back safely in the lift, en route to a *different* gray-green level, John pressed further. "You said whoever it was was firing a needler? One of your weapons?"

"Yes." Tacer shrugged. "And I didn't get a very good look, but they were in uniform, and I'm pretty sure I saw specialist markings." He frowned fiercely. "It has to be Etael. Or at least she's in charge. Frell!"

"Who's Etael?" Jool demanded. "You said all the Elite were leaving!"

"Well, princess, obviously they didn't!" Chiana replied, indicating Tacer. "Or didn't you notice there's one in the lift?"

"Of course I noticed! I was--"

"Chiana! Jool!" John said wearily. "Let Tacer finish. What's goin' on?"

"All the Elite were *ordered* to leave--" Tacer began, then broke off. "Etael is the specialist who was in charge of the Bastarrex project. Cryptographer. She was -- is -- devoted to it, *fanatic* about it, for reasons... which aren't commonly known. She's -- no, forget that. Just say she's devoted to it, and was... pretty upset to get yanked off because of a little thing like a Vigilante." He sighed, and rubbed his eyes. "I hadn't thought she'd actually--"

"Desert to stay here?" John supplied.

Tacer laughed a little, without humor. "No. I practically expected her to want to do that. Thing is, so did everybody else, so I'm surprised she managed to get away with it. I wonder how many people she talked into coming with her...?"

Chiana coughed. "You don't seem very happy about this. Going to complicate things?"

"Like you wouldn't believe," Tacer groaned.

"Like, how?" Chiana pressed.

"Bastarrex is Etael's life's work," Tacer said flatly. "She wheedled her way onto the project practically right out of her creche. That's unusual even for a specialist. She is absolutely devoted to gaining whatever information she can from Bastarrex." He paused. "I don't know how she'll react when she finds out we intend to blow the place up, but it won't be positively."

"Frelling Elite!" Jool muttered darkly.

# # # # #

"Tacer! Tacer Rezmarev!"

The yell, seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere at once, shocked Aeryn out of a sound sleep. She immediately rolled to the floor and cover behind the couch, pulse rifle in her hands.

No one in sight. The room remained as empty as ever.

"I know you can hear me, Tacer!" the voice began again. "Get to a comm station and open standard frequencies *now*. That is an *order*!"

Turning to follow the voice, Aeryn swiftly moved from cover out into the hall, her pulse rifle at the ready. It was impossible to follow normal commando procedures with no one to cover her, so she simply descended the stairs as quickly and quietly as she could. She just entered the entrance room when the voice spoke again, very close, coming from -- a speaker?

"Tacer, I *have* computer control of this facility. Sooner or later I'm going to find you. You'll be a lot better off if you cooperate."

//I know that voice,// Aeryn realized, even as she relaxed with the information that the sound was coming only over a general, probably facility-wide comm. //That's... that's Etael, the research head.// The aggrieved notes were unmistakable. //I don't remember anyone named Tacer, though.// And 'Tacer' didn't sound like he was under Etael's command. Another schism?

"Tacer, I *mean* it. I don't know what you think you're doing here, I don't care, but you'd better report in."

Aeryn sighed -- she had no hope of getting back to sleep now, even if she'd been confident it was safe to do so, which she wasn't. Instead, she restlessly roamed the dwelling, ignoring the periodic outbursts from the general comm.

"Report in *now* or you're going to be facing mutiny charges!"

# # # # #

"Mutiny charges?" Chiana echoed. "Uh, to be here now didn't Etael sort of desert?"

Tacer nodded. "Yes. I expect she'll be very embarrassed when she realizes how stupid that last threat was." He frowned, drummed his fingers on a console. "The computer control could be a serious problem, though. Etael's really the only one who's worked with the computer enough to get around the security protocols. Oh, I could have done some stuff, but not counter someone else's commands..."

John sighed and looked around their latest temporary hideout, a smaller command center. At least it had comfortable chairs. And Chiana and Jool had stopped arguing for the moment. "So you're sayin' we're frelled?"

"No... not necessarily... there *is* some way around this..." Despite his words, Tacer didn't look very optimistic. "Well, at least she doesn't have full director's authority. Makers did us a favor after all."

"What do you mean?" John asked. //There *is* a way around this. There has to be.// He wasn't going to fail here. "I thought you said she was the director?"

Tacer waved a vague hand. "Director of the project. Not director of Bastarrex. I read the reports, she tried to get the computer to recognize her as the director here, the person in charge, right after they got in, but the Makers used foresight for once and locked us -- the Elite -- out of that part of the computer. So Etael's in a bad position with anything involving security."

John had a feeling he was on to something here, he just couldn't quite think of it yet "How'd they lock you out? Codes? I'd thought--"

"No, no, codes we could break..." Tacer rested his head on his arm, flat on the console, as he tapped at the controls with his other hand. "All the security things... identifications... passcodes... I don't know... Well, it all involves DNA. So of course you can't establish a new director here without a DNA sample, and the computer can certainly recognize Elite DNA. Really, after Etael tried we're lucky it didn't gas the whole team. I heard that started another fight between Etael and Iber..."

//Yes!// "Tacer?" John said, trying not to grin. "I think you're overlookin' somethin' here."

Tacer blinked at him. "What?"

Chiana got it, and laughed. "Uh-huh. Definitely overlooking something."

"Maybe even several somethings," John added. The look on Tacer's face when he finally got it would probably be priceless. "But one something for sure."

"What are you talking about?" Jool asked. Her mood, unfortunately, had not improved.

Tacer got it. "Yes!" he exclaimed, sitting up straight. "Yes, I think you've got it." He smiled, looking like the cat who got the canary. "Yes, that should do it..."

"What?" Jool repeated, her voice rising to a higher register. "*What*? And why are you all looking at me like that?"

Tacer was still grinning. "Ever want to be director of a major research facility?"

Jool's eyes widened. "No. No. You are *not* going to make me--"

"Princess," Chiana said, sounding thoroughly disgusted, "we are trying to get out of here *alive*..."

John spoke quickly to head off another fight. "Okay, Jool doesn't want to, think you can get the computer to recognize me or Chi?"

Tacer shrugged. "Not sure. Probably not Chiana..." he flashed the Nebari an apologetic smile. "Unless they *just* locked out the Elite, Nebari were definitely on the Makers' list of people they wouldn't want to get ahold of their stuff. But we can check and see how the computer identifies both of you." He moved to another console and quickly started entering commands. "Just have to make sure none of this is relayed to the central level... good. Try me first..." Tacer looked at the symbols on the computer screen, then pulled out a... drawer?... and stuck a hand in, then his whole forearm, sliding the drawer partway back in. Despite the awkward position, he kept an eye on the computer and a hand on the controls. John noted without much surprise that Tacer was ambidextrous.

"What's the verdict?" John finally asked. The symbols on the computer had just changed without any commands from Tacer, so he figured the scan had finished. Tacer's expression was unreadable.

Pulling his arm out, Tacer snorted. "Well, the computer has identified me as a Generated hybrid, primarily Elite with a fraction of characteristics from Agricultural, which I guess is technically correct. It -- also flagged an unacceptable gene combination and recommended my termination."

John and Chiana gaped; even Jool looked very uncomfortable. "Just like that?" John asked. "Takes a look at your genes and -- bam, you're unsuitable, go die?"

Tacer shrugged. "Pretty much. Should've expected it. I have a variant on the twenty-third cluster substitution modification, which does kind of directly break some of the Makers' intentions. Just a little startled when the computer starts on it... Your turn, Chiana. Stick your arm in the slot -- it might sting a little."

"Why?" John asked curiously.

"Oh... it's hard to get a detailed look at Generated DNA with a skin cell or other surface cell, and you get more accurate scans from any other species, too..." Tacer was back at work at the console. "So, it takes a small sample of bone marrow."

"Um. Okay." //Bone marrow?// "And this is... safe?"

Tacer nodded absently. "Yes. Hey, Chiana, guess what? You're a Nebari." He paused for a microt. "Hmm, a *female* Nebari. I'd never have guessed. Ever want to know what region on Nebari Prime your ancestors probably came from?"

"Not really, no," Chiana replied. "But what else does it say about me?"

"Umm, pretty much just that you're a hostile species, a security risk, and should be restrained."

Chiana smirked as she withdrew her arm from the drawer, shaking it a few times. "Hear that, princess? I'm a security risk." Jool ignored her.

"My turn," John said, moving over to the console and getting his arm in place. "I just wait?"

Tacer nodded. "Yes. Half a microt."

A patch of John's arm, hidden inside the drawer, suddenly stung briefly and went numb. John watched the screen. //Is it taking longer this time, or does it just feel like this because kneeling like this with my arm up is so awkward?// "Well?"

"You can take your arm out now," Tacer said, instead of answering the question. "It wouldn't take you as director, either."

John got back to his feet, rubbing his arm. "Come on, aren't you going to tell me all the juicy details?"

"You won't like it," Tacer warned, quickly returning his gaze to the display. "It, uh, decided you were an experimental subject."

"What?" John demanded. "It said I'm *what*?" //Have I no dignity left...//

"I told you you wouldn't like it," Tacer mumbled, still engrossed in the computer screen.

Chiana was snickering. "What'd it say, primitive lifeform, put in cage?"

"Shut up, Chi," John ordered, and turned back to Tacer. "Tacer? Tell me that's not what it said."

Tacer shook his head. "How could a computer identify level of technological development by a DNA scan? It's probably just because it couldn't find a record of his species, and since a computer programmed by the Makers could never admit it might not know something, it decided you were engineered. I don't know. It doesn't matter. The *point* is--"

"We have one candidate left," John finished. "Jool!"

Over her protests, the Interion was hauled over to the console and her arm placed in the drawer. Tacer said ominously that if she screamed, he was going to scream back. Jool, either chastened or sulky, sat pouting while the DNA scan ran.

"Yes!" Tacer exclaimed. "We can make her the director. All right, we'll need an identity -- no, keep your hand there, Joolushko Tunai Fenta--"

"Just call me Jool!" Jool snapped.

Everyone stared. //I must've heard that wrong,// John thought incredulously. //That or the world is coming to an end.//

"What?" Jool said. Just as if she hadn't been ordering everyone to use her '*whole name*' for the past cycle.

Tacer, recovering from the shock, turned back to the console. "All right. You can be director Fenta Hovalis. It shouldn't make much of a difference, I just have to put in something... good. Good. Just have to check... Good!" He turned to grin at John and Chiana. "We have our director! Oh, and you can take your arm out now."

"So now that we have a director, what do we do?" John asked. "Internal surveillance, right, but is there anythin' else you have to do now?"

"Don't think so. I'm just trying to cut off Etael's access to internal surveillance scanning. So, she could find us if she looked at the right scanning field, but you know how big Bastarrex is... she'd have to be really lucky." Suddenly, Tacer frowned. "What the frell is that?"

"What?" John, Chiana, and Jool asked, practically in unison.

"Someone's pressurizing a docking bay, it looks like they're coming in... number 104... got it!" Tacer didn't look any happier when the screen displayed the rather battered ship that had set down in the docking bay in question. "That looks like a cargo hauler... sort of. Modified. Frell, I should have asked someone if there were any other ships in the area!"

John shrugged. "We're already gonna be avoidin' Peacekeepers and Etael's people. Like you said, it's a big base. This is just gonna be one more person blundering around." He would have said more, but at that moment the ship's occupant moved into view and his mouth went dry.

"More like *lumbering* around," Jool said distastefully. "What is *that*?"

Chiana giggled. "I don't know. But we should certainly be able to outrun it."

They didn't know. They had no way of knowing. It probably ought to stay that way, but body language spoke louder than words, and Tacer was already giving him a questioning look. John tried to compose himself, wave Tacer away with a smile, though he knew he'd have to explain eventually. Or explain some of it, anyway. He'd certainly have to come up with some sort of reason for why, maybe even more than the Peacekeepers, Furlow couldn't be allowed to leave Bastarrex with any technology at all.


	14. ** 13 **

The blue level was considerably less claustrophobia-inducing than most of the others John had seen so far. Well, the command levels hadn't actually been that cramped, but the almost nauseating decor had made up for it. Tacer had apparently felt the same way; they'd barely left the lift for what looked like a very large gym when the Elite chuckled under his breath, then flipped into a cartwheel, then a handspring, then what looked like a backflip, landing lightly on his feet.

"Hmm, it's true what they say, too much sneaking around *will* get you out of shape," he called as he walked back, only to have to step quickly out of the way when Jool did a handspring directly towards him.

John grabbed Chiana's shoulder before she could join the impromptu gymnastics competition. Handsprings, he was sure, were *not* what the doctor had ordered. "Remember your spine, Pip."

"Well, if I can't--" she muttered. "Come on, kids! We need to go!"

Tacer played along. "Awwwww, please, can't we stay a *little* longer? I'm *sure* my off-duty's not over yet!" But he toppled easily over from his handstand and returned the the group, Jool trailing after him. "I don't know if we'll find many explosives here, but it's worth a try."

"How many explosives are we goin' to need?"

"Uh... lots." Tacer led the way out into a wide corridor, walking backwards. "I really don't think conventional explosives will be enough to destroy the entire facility, but I'm not overwhelmingly enthusiastic to go messing around in the munitions laboratories... Maybe our director'll be able to get us an inventory somewhere so we know exactly what we're working with. I just hope the Makers cleaned up their mess before they left."

//Mess?// "Like... radioactive waste?"

"Oh... maybe, I guess." Tacer looked uncertain. "But I'm sure any radioactive stuff would be in containment. We just don't breach the containment and we're fine. I mean, everything would be in containment, but... I don't know... I'm just not *comfortable* with antimatter explosives."

Chiana looked blank, but Jool looked nearly as alarmed as John felt. "There's antimatter... here?" he asked. "In the base?"

Tacer shrugged. "I'm not sure. Probably. I hope so, actually since we want to destroy this place. I know the Makers used it, anyway--"

"Tacer, hold on a minute. Microt." John pulled his flashlight... flashlight equivalent... from its place on his belt, turned it on, and shined it at the floor, trying a few different angles before he was sure. The dust on the floor had been disturbed. There were barely discernible footprints. "Somebody's been through here."

"Frell," Tacer muttered. He stepped back, also looking at the footprints. "I think... only one person, maybe. Can't be sure. A few days ago?" He shook his head. "Hard to say. Wish I could make out the tread."

This time it was Jool who looked completely blank. Chiana was attempting to trail the blurry footprints back to their origin. "Looks like they came out of some sort of conduit!" she called.

"And went that way, towards the firing range," Tacer concluded. "I'm going to see if there's anyone still there. Doubt it, but--" He jogged quickly away, veering off into the firing range before stopping to examine the floor again. John and the others trailed after him.

While Tacer crouched down to examine what was evidently a clearer print, John wandered over to a nearby door -- if this was a firing range, maybe it led to an armory. The door also looked just a little... //Well, a little open, for one thing.// With an internal shrug, John headed over to try it--

Harvey appeared in a HazMat suit. "John! You don't know what might be in there! And the door could be trapped--"

//Shut up,// John thought forcefully, and opened the door anyway. The latching mechanism was broken, which explained why it had been hanging slightly open. Whatever security systems had been there had already gone off -- and, since he saw no corpses or piles of ashes, gone off unsuccessfully.

It was indeed an armory, full of lots and lots and lots of weapons, in neat rows on racks, undisturbed for-- //A pulse rifle's missing.// Given the busted door, it had probably been taken by the same person who left the footprints. //But why would an Elite need to raid the armory for weapons?// Why would *anybody*? Surely anyone coming to Bastarrex would know it was a dangerous place and bring weapons to begin with. Unless... "Tacer," he called. "Can you think of any prisoners which might've been brought here?"

"No, but I wouldn't necessarily know... though I can't imagine *why* anyone would bring a prisoner here. Why?"

"Someone broke into this armory and took a pulse rifle, and I don't think they'd be stealing weapons unless..."

"They didn't have any," Chiana finished, joining him in the armory. "Lot of guns! Tacer's out there staring at a footprint. Still trying to figure out the tread. Not sure if there's enough there for him to figure anything out."

John shrugged. "Gotta give him a shot. I'm pretty curious myself."

Chiana nodded. "I followed the tracks a while longer. They didn't go very far before they circled back to the conduit. No way to know whether they were going up or down."

Probably down. So far most people seemed to be entering Bastarrex pretty near the top... pole... whatever you wanted to call it. //Things would get pretty interesting here if the artificial gravity ever turned off.// John briefly pictured walking on the walls, or the ceiling, but then remembered that in their current position, gravitic 'orientation' wouldn't change -- only magnitude. //Which, given that this is an asteroid, would be very low.// It would certainly be... interesting. //And pointless.// John sighed, and walked back out onto the firing range, where Tacer was still scrutinizing the footprint. "Learnin' anything?"

"I don't know." Tacer sounded faintly discouraged, and didn't look up from the floor. "There just really isn't enough dust for a good print. I *think* it wasn't made by an Elite boot, though. Which supports your prisoner theory, though I really have *no* idea why someone would--" He broke off, suddenly, staring into the distance.

John waited a few microts. "Get an idea?"

"Yeah." Tacer closed his eyes and seemed to be thinking hard. "No," he murmured under his breath. "She never did say anything. And I know she didn't get any new geneticists at all recently... and there's still the matter of where... I got it. I think."

After a few microts passed and Tacer appeared to still be thinking, Chiana spoke up. "Uh, you want to tell us what it is you got?"

"It's the key. Etael didn't create a key, she caught one, and then it got away. She must've been keeping it a secret, too... I wonder if Lashan's found out yet?"

"Tacer? You've lost us."

"Sorry." Tacer took a deep breath, got to his feet, ran a hand through his hair. Technically, fur, but that was a little too weird to go into. "I told you that Bastarrex had a very clever key. It's... it's complicated, but it involved genetic engineering and required a live subject. We -- the Elite, our geneticists -- haven't been able to produce anything with the required... subtlety. That hasn't changed in the last cycle. Etael has to have found a key somewhere. And it's starting to look like it was a someone, not a something, and it escaped."

Jool muttered something about being trapped among barbarians of all kinds and species, then, "Fine. How do we avoid it?"

Tacer shook his head. "No, it's the Elite's fault this person's here, we have to give them a chance to get away before we destroy Bastarrex. It's only right."

"Has it occurred to you that they probably won't like Elite very much?" Jool retorted.

"You volunteering to talk to them for me? This is something I need to do." Tacer made a face. "I'd love to dump the responsibility on Etael, but I'm still hoping to avoid telling her just why I'm here." He eyed Jool, a speculative gleam in his eye. "Although I suppose with director's access I could actually have quite a lot of fun comming her." He frowned. "Probably too much."

"Yeah, we, uh, don't want to wind up with whoever she has with her chasing us all over the place," John said. Too bad -- it might have been interesting to witness the Elite equivalent of a crank call. "Can you use that director's access to get the computer scanning for... um... movement, maybe?"

Tacer nodded. "Shouldn't be too hard. Have to get to a command level, though. Umm... I have to check the schematics." He took off his pack and started to rummage through it. "I probably ought to say something to Etael, too."

Chiana glanced up. "I noticed the threats stopped."

"That's because she has to have seen that new arrival, too. No good announcing what's going on to possible hostiles. Etael can be as annoying as a broody thevvet, but she's not stupid." Tacer pulled out the schematics and shuffled them for a few microts until finding what he was looking for. "Hmm, we're here -- no, that's the wrong level. Um... frell, there are too many of these..."

The room suddenly switched to a setting that looked like it had been stolen from ~Stalag 17~ -- Harvey, taking advantage of the temporary lull. "John, it should be clear to you by this time that this situation is only going to get worse, not better. Even *if* this... Tacer is trustworthy, all he's done is buy you a little more time." He paused. "John, are you listening to me?"

He was certainly trying not to. "Not now," John sighed, sitting on one of the bunks.

"Think, John." Harvey strolled slowly along the center aisle, still in camouflage. "You are trapped on this... base with no plan, no escape route, no knowledge of what to expect here, and only an extremely unreliable and *defective* genetically constructed soldier as a guide."

Mostly true, perhaps, but-- "Give the kid a break, Harv. Just because he has a sense of humor which doesn't involve messing with my head--"

"That has nothing to do with it. His own people seem to regard him as a 'loose cannon,' and he's justified it by betraying them to bring you here." If it was possibly, John was sure, Harvey would have been circling him. "He's a soldier who's unable to function in a unit. He's only able to function at all because of an unfair advantage given by his family. He's a genetic construct whose designers -- who are, one assumes, the experts -- would have eliminated him as unfit. Don't you think that should tell you something?"

"Yes. That the Ashkren were heartless bastards who'd kill a kid for not living up to some arcane standards -- or for the hybridization part, for all we know." John got to his feet. "If this is another attempt to get me to surrender to the Peacekeepers when they arrive, give up."

Back in the real world, Tacer was putting the schematics away. If anyone had noticed John's distraction, they didn't mention it.

"We have a couple of options," Tacer said as he closed his pack. "We can backtrack with the lifts to the command center we were in earlier -- it'd take a while, the way we came here was the shortest ones. The lifts here don't stop on every level. *Or* we could get to an auxiliary command station on an Ashkren habitation level by going a few levels down by conduit. We'd have to go past cold storage, but I don't think there'd be anyone still there and if we stayed in the conduit..." He shrugged. "You guys can choose. Climbing or route-retracing?"

"Use the lifts," Jool said.

"Climbing," Chiana said immediately afterwards.

John hesitated. He didn't feel like retracing the complicated route of lift switches and levels they'd followed to reach the blue level, but he didn't want to take any chances with Chiana's shiny new spine. But Tacer hadn't seemed at all concerned, so... "Let's take the conduit. Have a better chance of catching up with the, uh, runaway key, too."

Jool complained all the way to the conduit, but Tacer and Chiana seemed happy enough. At least Tacer had made Jool put on field boots. She'd never have managed even a low-gravity ladder in her typical footwear.

# # # # #

It was the intrusion of sound into a silent place that first alerted Aeryn to the presence of others on the pale green level. The quiet voices didn't carry, exactly, but the noise of the conversation did as a previously absent background murmur. But how to react -- should she investigate or retreat?

Investigation triumphed after a brief struggle, and she headed towards the noise, moving as silently as she could between the cover of the empty buildings. There was more than one person, from the footsteps. An Elite patrol?

The one voice she could clearly hear didn't sound very much like an Elite...

"...did *not* blow it up. She was exaggerating. It blew *out*. And the only injuries were a few minor scaldings." After a pause the speaker continued. "And it's not as if it was the first time someone sabotaged systems they felt were substandard. I mean, compared to the incident in one of the inner rotational jurisdates with the Daggers, it was really pretty trivial. So everyone had to eat field rations for a while. Half the crew already did because the processed food was so revolting. I don't know why everyone overreacted the way they did..."

"The scalding pre-processed food sludge shooting out all over your Command might've done it."

Aeryn almost, but not quite, dropped her pulse rifle. //John?// This was... was... something.

"Well... I still don't think it compared to the Dagger incident. Which *was* only fifteen cycles after the revolt, but my point stands. Besides, it wasn't *all* over Command..."

She crept silently into a building and found a good vantage point on the second floor. It *was* John, wearing an Elite uniform and looking no worse than had been typical lately, following the extremely talkative Elite, who was walking backwards to get a good view of his audience. //He's alive. He's all right.// Aeryn didn't want to delve too deeply into her emotions, afraid of what she'd find. Chiana and Jool were trailing behind John, needling each other. All three of her crewmates were armed -- not necessarily a good thing in Jool's case -- and didn't look like they were prisoners. Still, she wasn't sure what to do... //I can't just spy on them forever.//

So she simply walked down the stairs and out of the building, behind John and the others but in full view of the backwards-walking Elite, who stopped talking, gaped, then said, "Don't tell me *you're* the key!" Jool squeaked, John and Chiana spun.

"*Aeryn*!" John clearly had to stop himself from throwing his arms around her; as it was, he pulled up short only a few paces away. His face -- he could be so easy to read -- flickered through joy, wariness, and sorrow before settling on relief. "Good to see you. You okay?"

"I'm uninjured. You?" Had the Elite interrogated him? Frell, the Elite wouldn't have had to injure him, he'd been in bad enough condition already--

He ran a hand through his hair. "M'fine. Chiana--"

"Is also fine!" the Nebari snapped.

John sighed. "Chiana got pretty badly banged up in the crash and is still recovering. We, uh, ran into a planet."

"Jool ran into a planet," Chiana specified.

Jool scowled. "I didn't hit the puf-- piff--"

"Pfalln orchard?" the Elite supplied.

John looked slightly long-suffering. "Yes, princess, and we're all grateful you didn't hit the pfalln orchard, not least the pfalln orchard's owners, I would imagine, but in terms of crashes I think the rollovers were bad enough."

//Rollovers?// "Crichton, what are you talking about?" Another implication hit her. "You let *Jool* pilot?"

"Don't look at me, I was unconscious," John said hastily, holding up his hands. "An' in Chiana's defense, it sounds like there were some really urgent repairs to make."

The Elite spoke up before anyone else could. "Sorry to interrupt, but could you continue the conversation in the command station? I want to rig the internal sensors, and I'll need--" snicker "--our director."

Chiana snickered, too; John gave her a quelling look and waved a hand at the Elite. "Lead on, MacDuff." The Elite smiled faintly and 'lead on,' not before grabbing Jool's arm and hauling her along with him, provoking a yelp. Chiana giggled and followed, leaving Aeryn alone with John at the back. She might have been alarmed, but the alternatives were Chiana, Jool, or an Elite. Alarm would be ungrateful.

Silence, she was sure, would be worse than talking. "Who's that Elite?"

"His name's Tacer, and he's the reason we're here rather than still on the Elite ship that just left. He acts a little strange sometimes -- especially if you remember he's supposed to be an Elite -- but he's a good kid. We were lucky to meet him."

"Do you trust him?"

"Um..." John trailed off, then shrugged. "Well, yeah. I'd say I do."

Aeryn nodded reluctantly. She'd prefer to trust no one, but having an Elite with them would obviously make things easier. "How did you encounter the Elite to start with?" She hesitated, but had to ask. "And what's a rollover?"

"Um..." John shrugged. "The Marauder hit the ground funny and, uh... rolled over, and over and over, like a really lumpy ball. Ten and a half revolutions, wasn't it, Pip? We ended up upside-down in the middle of a crop field."

//Frell.// "And you discovered you had strayed into Elite space."

"Well, only after we woke up. Uh, like I said, Chiana was most seriously injured -- it was *really* serious -- but we all got knocked out and I was, uh, already a little the worse for wear. By the time I woke up they'd put me through various treatments so I was really weak but mostly patched up, Jool had woken up, started screaming, and been sedated--"

She couldn't help herself. She smiled, eyebrows rising helplessly. "Crichton, I think we may have overlooked a simple solution."

He smiled back, shaking his head. "Except princess is best with the sedatives. But it turns out Interions really really don't like Elite -- Elite aren't too fond of Interions, either -- and the medics didn't have much patience for Jool's... hysteria." John paused. "In fact, almost no patience. Except, unfortunately, for Tacer, who instead of getting mad likes to goad her. I have to admit she does it a lot less around him now, though..."

Aeryn prompted him to continue, and he related the severity of Chiana's injuries, what he'd learned from some of the other Elite, the growing anxiety surrounding Bastarrex, their voyage on the '~Repulsive Upholstery~' (and she'd thought Humans were strange), and Tacer's eventual decision. They stopped outside the 'auxiliary command station' that the other three had gone into, leaning on the wall by the door keeping an eye on the... peculiar surroundings.

Words carried easily from inside the room. "I am not going to let you stick me with any more-- Ow!"

"Princess, shut up."

John glanced towards the door before finishing his story. "So, the deal is, we help Tacer rig this place to blow -- which I think is a good idea -- and he gets us out of here, the complications being a bunch of specialists, a bunch of Peacekeepers who aren't here yet, and... something I'll have to talk to you about later." He looked away, not meeting her eyes. Definitely worried, not to mention worrying. "There's not much else to tell -- except Tacer got the computer to recognize Jool as the director so we can get full access. Inconsiderate computer -- it seems to find Elite and Nebari unacceptable as director material, and of course it had no idea what I was." John shook his head -- something else that he wasn't mentioning, perhaps. "How'd *you* end up here?"

She told him, eliminating most of the details. He probably guessed she was only summarizing, but for once he didn't press, just wincing when she mentioned repeated genetic sampling. Aeryn *did* describe details of what she'd seen of Bastarrex, even the morgue. John winced again, though it seemed he wasn't completely unprepared -- Tacer had said something earlier about bodies in cold storage. They both agreed that the whole facility was 'creepy', to use John's terminology, and finally wound down to silence.

It didn't last too long. "Got it! We're done now, Jool, you can move." The Elite -- Tacer -- raised his voice. "We're done now! Come in and take a look at what I've done with the sensors."

"This should be interesting," John murmured. "Come on."

Aeryn reluctantly followed him into the command station, which was an unpleasant shade of gray-green. Jool was slouched in a chair, pouting, but Chiana had joined the Elite in looking at a large hologram projected over a tablelike surface in the center of the room. There was an odd flicker in the hologram, probably because of the pack and duffel sitting on the table.

The Elite followed her gaze. "Oh, sorry." He quickly moved the bags. "As I'm sure you've guessed, this is Bastarrex..." He indicated the spherical hologram. "You can't see any detail at this scale, but I can at least show you about what I have worked outs Those blue lights moving around near the equator level are Etael and her team... hmm, I think they're starting to move out. The yellow light is that other strange person. We don't show up here because the internal monitors are ignoring us. Someone can see us if they happen to look at the right feed at the right time, but the computer won't detect us in any broad-based searches, even if someone does figure out how to program those without director-level clearance. Which I don't put past Etael -- she's much better with computers than I am, being a cryptographer and all that. I'll need to keep checking and add some more routines when the Peacekeepers--"

"What about the orange dots?" Chiana interrupted, possibly just to stop the lecture. "What are they?"

It stopped the lecture, anyway. "Um, there aren't any," Tacer said after a pause.

Chiana blinked a few times, then groaned. "Not *again*! Frell!" Aeryn had to think for a microt before she remembered -- the visions. This wasn't what they needed.

John sighed. "Maybe it's just the Peacekeepers."

"No, they're not here yet," Tacer objected. "And I haven't--"

Holding up a hand, John stopped him. "Bear with me, Tacer. When the Peacekeepers *do* get here, what color are you likely to indicate them with?"

The Elite, clearly, still didn't understand what was going on. "I wouldn't think orange. Oh... probably red, since blue's taken... and red's one of the Peacekeepers' colors anyway. Um, yes, I think red. Could you please explain this? I obviously don't know something kind of important..."

Aeryn and John exchanged glances -- clearly, this was necessary information -- and explained, reluctantly, about Chiana's future flashes. Tacer listened attentively and, glancing at the Nebari, merely acknowledged the information.

"But I honestly don't know what the orange dots could have been," he said finally. "Could *be*, sorry. I guess... there's something else going on we don't know about."


	15. ** 14 **

"No, you are *not* blaming this one on me," Iber snapped. "It was *your* frelling brother who ran off with these prisoners you still won't give me the identities of--"

"I'm not trying to blame you for that!" Lashan snapped back. "That was my error in judgment. I admit it. I made a mistake. But giving Grovas a reason to want to go to Bastarrex is *not* the same thing as letting him make off with an Arrow!"

"I did not *let* him do anything! Specialist Grovas was not under my command, not my responsibility--"

"So you're saying you *did* let Etael run off?"

Lashan knew she really shouldn't be taking her frustrations out on Iber, but she really needed to scream at someone, and both Etael and Grovas were... gone... as was Tacer, of course. Exactly what their departures should be classified as was as yet undetermined. Etael, to begin with, had a certain amount of maneuverability as a specialist project director -- if she managed to avoid causing any disasters and actually accomplished something, she'd probably be let off with a reprimand. Possibly not even a sincere reprimand, if she found something important. The specialists and soldiers she'd taken with her, of course, were following orders and subject to no punishment beyond a note on their records.

Tacer, not a specialist or high-ranked, with an already tarnished record... Tacer was really pushing it this time. More than pushing it, maybe. Lashan didn't want to have to think about that immediately, and was just thankful it looked like Tacer understood he'd crossed the line and was planning to stay gone for a while. In a few cycles, after tempers had a chance to cool, she would request leniency for Tacer... again. //My eccentricity.// And given that he was running off with prisoners Central Jurisdate really didn't want to be forced to deal with anyway, it would probably be granted.

Grovas she was seriously considering terminating on her own authority.

Grimacing, Lashan turned and paced across the room, away from Iber -- there wasn't nearly enough room to pace in the shipboard captain's office. "Look, I'm sorry. I know you have too many responsibilities to try to keep track of someone like that... that..."

"Specialist!" Iber finished.

"For lack of a better term." Lashan sat down behind her desk. "*I* should have been more careful. I asked Etael about him when I received word he was coming -- did you know they were crechemates?"

Iber blinked. "Huh, you're right. Estrenet."

"Yes, well, she had quite a bit to say about him. None of it complimentary." Lashan closed her eyes, weighing the benefits of asking Zhiv for an analgesic. "Pity there isn't some way to warn her he's on his way to Bastarrex. As obsessed as Etael can be... she's a frelling lot better than Grovas."

"You sure you're not wishing there was a way we could warn your brother?"

Lashan glared. "As *erratic* as Tacer can be, I *still* trust him more than Grovas." She kept her eyes on her desk. "Besides, as angry as I am about Tacer's actions, I was not enthusiastic with the idea of turning the prisoners over to Grovas."

Iber gave her a look, which she ignored.

# # # # #

Their convoluted path to the red level where they hoped to find munitions was not pleasant. To begin with, the Ashkren practice of having each lift *not* stop at every floor, with odd combinations and overlaps that might be logical but were very inconvenient, was making the trip a lot more complicated. And lengthy. Despite the relative ease of their earlier conversation, the tension between John and Aeryn was rising again, both of them uncomfortable, neither sure what to say. The night they all spent in the Ashkren habitation level, camped out in the abandoned luxury houses, had been hard enough, but in the confined space of a lift...

Tacer evidently perceived the strain and decided to try to distract them -- by picking a fight with Jool. Many fights with Jool. Since they'd already established en route to Bastarrex that Tacer could reduce Jool to sputtering indignation in a hundred microts or less, it was already old when it started. John guessed it served its purpose, though. Instead of avoiding each other's eyes, he and Aeryn became involved in trying to figure out how to make an Elite *shut up*. When they finally reached the correct level and moved into a corridor, John pulled Tacer aside.

"Tacer," he said. "I know, that you know, that calling Jool's homeworld an unimportant political backwater and her culture not much more than a cargo cult is going to get her upset. I'm sorry if we've given you the wrong impression, but we *don't* want her upset. So please stop. Got it?"

"Got it," Tacer replied. He looked a little guilty. But not very.

//You gotta wonder why the Elite have a term that translates as 'cargo cult'...// John sighed as the group fell into what was starting to be their habitual pattern -- Tacer leading, of course, Aeryn on rearguard, Chiana and Jool in the middle, and John moving back and forth wherever he seemed to be needed. The decor of the red level was possibly even worse than the command level, the red walls and ceiling being unpleasantly reminiscent of Peacekeepers. The overall effect was dark and oppressive. //Talk about conducive to claustrophobia.//

At the moment, John was up front with Tacer, watching as he moved from door to door, checking the small computer monitor by each one, and occasionally commenting on what he read. "Huh, I never heard of anything like *this*... Hey, look at this! They were synthesizing material for environmental suits in here... I wonder why they have a whole storage room full of carbon isotopes... Frell, *only* the Makers would have a lab devoted to synthesizing amino acids... Is that more carbon isotopes?"

John was sure he wasn't hearing half of it, but he really wished he had time to look around the labs. The 'hydrogen drive' and 'pulse insulation' in particular sounded interesting. It was ironic -- John Crichton, scientist, was here to destroy what was probably one of the biggest scientific laboratories of all time. He could feel Harvey coming up with a reply to that, but he firmly squashed the clone back into his subconscious. At least they hadn't encountered any star charts -- he wasn't sure if he'd have been able to restrain himself.

Star charts, drive systems, chemical elements no one had dreamed about on Earth, incredible medical technology, answers to every genetic question ever posed, power generators, complex field generators, inexhaustible organ and tissue supplies, computers the next best thing to sentient -- if he could get just a *little* of it back to Earth -- even just back to Moya -- the things they could do with it... //Weapons. Wormholes, antimatter, who knows what else... I have to keep thinking about the weapons, and what the PKs or the Scarrans or the Nebari would do with them.// All the same, it was hard not to feel like a barbarian at the sack of Rome.

Tacer eventually came to a full stop before one door, frowning. "Huh. I guess I'd better take a look at this, anyway." He started entering commands on the control panel. "I just hope they cleaned up after themselves..."

"Antimatter in there?" John asked.

"No..." The door unsealed. "But this would be worse..."

"Worse?" Jool squeaked, having caught up enough to hear the last part. John groaned and followed Tacer into the lab.

He found the Elite standing in the middle of the room, looking around. He seemed to have relaxed. "All right, no need to panic. They cleaned up."

John looked around the room, grateful that at least in the lab the Ashkren had limited themselves to red trim. //This color-coding business has gotten completely out of control.// "So what *was* in here?"

Tacer pointed at a... hole, sort of, in the opposite wall. "There's a containment field generator. Several, actually. At some point they had a singularity in here."

"Ah." That was worse than antimatter, all right. "A black hole. Okay." John looked at the empty space between the generators. "And... where is it now?"

"How the frell should I know? Not here, anyway, which is good enough for me." Tacer was obviously relieved. "I mean, we can to deal with antimatter, we'll probably need to deal with antimatter, but singularities scare me. Would scare me if I ever encountered one, I guess. The idea of singularities scares me."

"Me, too," John agreed, and headed back out into the corridor. "Nothin' in there," he called, for Aeryn and Chiana's benefit. "So just what are we going to do after we find sufficient explosives?"

Tacer frowned. "I've been thinking about where to place them. Someplace without a lot of shielding, of course -- maybe the docking shafts? Which we'll have to go to anyway to get our escape vehicle. Well, I'm not sure..."

"Power conduits?" John suggested.

"Maybe. Depends. None of those really go though the whole complex. We may just have to go around and place them one by one in each area." Tacer sighed. "Isn't this *fun*?"

# # #

It was arns later when they finally stopped to eat something. They'd found antimatter warheads and dutifully admired them -- John wasn't sure what he'd expected, but the explosives were ovoid, about five feet long and two feet wide. *He* couldn't see a control panel on them, but Tacer simply held the handheld computer screen thingy to the side of the casing and watched as it apparently 'talked' to a computer inside the missile casing. Then he'd quietly said that the detonation system was a type with which he was familiar and they could program it to go off on a signal or a timer. Objective found.

Alas, before they could consider switching directions to find places to *put* the explosives, Chiana had found a stockpile of various metals. John had never heard of most of them, but they were evidently very valuable -- even Tacer and Jool caved and each took a few samples. John followed their examples, and Jool assured him that he was now considerably wealthier than he had been an arn before. Chiana, limited by what she could carry in her pack, was still going through the stockpile looking for the most valuable combination when the others returned to the oppressively-colored corridor for lunch.

They were just finishing up when Tacer cocked his head. "You hear anything?"

John listened. "No..."

Aeryn frowned. "Not... really. But I'm not sure."

"Neither am I," Tacer replied.

Before John could say anything else, a trio of small spherical objects shot down the corridor towards them, landing on the floor. //Oh, frell!// He barely had time for the thought before the spheres started spewing gas. "Where--"

The gas, whatever it was, was a paralyzing agent. John was unable to move within microts; Aeryn and Jool appeared to be in the same condition. Unsurprisingly, Aeryn looked angry and Jool looked freaked. Only Tacer was still on his feet, holding his breath and aiming a weapon down the corridor towards the source of the gas grenades.

//Frell, frell, *frell*! This is *not* what we needed right now!// John thought as he slid bonelessly down the wall he'd been leaning on to eat, ending up sprawled on his side on the floor. He couldn't even *see* anything besides Tacer's boots and Aeryn, also sprawled on the floor. Jool, somewhere out of sight, was whimpering piteously. //Please, Chi, stay in the room, don't come out... at least not without a gas mask and a weapon...//

There was a series of dull thuds -- needle guns firing -- and then a sharp gasp from Tacer. The view of Tacer's boots abruptly became a view of Tacer's legs as the Elite fell to his knees. "Frell..." John heard him whisper. A microt later, Tacer collapsed completely, needler clattering uselessly on the floor. "Frell, frell..."

A new pair of boots walked into John's line of sight -- Elite-style boots, to go with the needlers. One of the boots prodded Tacer in the shoulder. "Still conscious?" a voice asked, sounding only marginally interested.

The pause that followed was so long that John started to think Tacer wasn't, but he finally spoke up. "Was that... strictly... necessary?" Tacer's voice was very soft, barely more than a whisper, and very uneven.

"I couldn't have you interfering with my mission," the cool voice replied. "And you're only a renegade."

"Like... you aren't... here against... Central... Jurisdate's orders... just as... much as I am." Tacer was definitely struggling to breathe, and John was afraid that whatever kind of needle the kid had been hit with, it wasn't blue. "I don't... know what... you think you'll... accomplish... with... this anyway, Grovas." Pause, gasp. "Is you... isn't it. Specialist... 'let me construct a... singularity... on a heavily populated... planet.' Recognized... the style--" Tacer broke off with another gasp as the boot poked, more forcefully, at his stomach.

John finally managed to get his throat to work. "Someone want to to tell me what's goin' on?" he asked.

The owner of the boot and the cold voice turned its attention to him, and John found himself flipped over onto his back. The view was no better overall, but he did catch a glimpse of an Elite with markings that differed significantly from Tacer, Zhiv, and Lashan's -- less blue and green, more red and orange. And no medic purple, of course. "So this is John Crichton," the Elite said, still dispassionate. "Unimpressive."

"Gee, thanks," John replied. "And who are you?"

The Elite ignored him and turned to issue orders to unseen minions. "Take him and the Sebacean -- leave the Interion, we don't need to deal with *that*."

More footsteps -- another Elite (blue markings only, must be a soldier) moved briefly into his view before he was rolled over again, and he could feel someone taking his weapons. "What about Rezmarev, sir?"

"Hey, no one's explained what's goin' on yet!" John said loudly, but again, he was ignored -- not even a shove or a blow for his trouble. //What do they think I am, an inanimate object?// More likely an animate object...

"Leave the renegade, too," Cold-voice answered his subordinate. "He'll be dead soon enough."

"Frell... you... Grovas," Tacer wheezed.

The corridor abruptly spun dizzily as the Elite soldier picked John up in a fireman's carry, whatever the Elite called it. John tried again to move, but the paralyzing effects of the gas still hadn't worn off. He caught a quick glimpse of Aeryn getting similar treatment -- enough to see that, while she hadn't said anything, she was alert and pissed. "Why am I gettin' the feelin' that I'm bein' *ignored*!"

"Grovas... does that... lots. Treats people... like his ex... perimental subjects. And he doesn't even... do biology. Weapons... research." Tacer's breathing was getting more erratic. "Good... specialist... lous-- lousy strategist. And he... doesn't know much... at all... about... Bastarrex. Remember gene... scan. But watch... for Peacekeepers!"

//Frell. We're in trouble. And Tacer's really in trouble.// "Tace--" John managed. The group was starting to walk away, back towards the lifts. //Frell!//

"Don't... worry. We'll... be fine, won't... we, Jool..."

Jool's reply didn't translate, but it didn't sound like it indicated agreement. John felt sick, and not, he thought, because of the effects of the paralysis gas.

# # # # #

It was an eternity before Chiana dared to emerge into the corridor, holding both her breath and her needler. She'd only been able to hear a very little through the door -- little enough that she hadn't been sure the silence she'd heard was real. The precious metals around her had rapidly lost appeal as her worry grew... not that she'd emptied out of her pack what she'd already taken, of course. But finally, things seemed very quiet...

The good news was, the unseen enemy were gone and the gas had dissipated.

The bad news: John and Aeryn were nowhere in sight.

At least she had a good idea what the orange dots were, now.

On the floor, Jool was still motionless but was wailing. Tacer very slowly turned his head to look at Chiana. "Chiana," he rasped. "My... pack. Outer pocket. Injector. Violet."

Chiana stayed frozen a microt longer before launching herself at the pack in question and quickly unsealing the outer pocket. The injector looked very odd, but it was recognizable, and she hurried back to Tacer's side. "Now what?"

Tacer nodded very slightly, so at least she had the right thing. "You... hold it... to the injection... site. Depress... the thingy... on top. Base... of the skull... first. Twice. Then... eight more... evenly spaced... spine."

Oddly enough, it was quite clear what the 'thingy' was. Chiana carefully positioned the injector, applying slight pressure. "This the right place?"

"'S fine. Jus'... do it. Now."

Swallowing, Chiana obeyed, pushing down the little... plunger?... thingy twice, then moving down Tacer's back. "What happened?" she asked, and went on, the questions tumbling out all at once. "Who were those people? Do you know where they've taken Crichton and Aeryn? What happened to *you* exactly? When's Jool going to be able to move?"

"Those people were more Elite." Tacer sounded better already. "Grovas Estrenet. Really obnoxious specialist. One of the Elite who might... be interested in wormhole technology. I think... I *think* he must've got orders to take custody of Crichton and you... and Jool, so he could keep investigating. No idea about specifics." He took a deep breath. "Good, better, much better. Thanks. The paralyzing agent should wear off... umm... it'll be a few arns, I think. Lost track of time there for a while."

Chiana nodded, relieved that at least he didn't sound like he was suffocating any more. "Should I give Jool an injection?"

"No. No. She'll be fine in a few arns." Tacer tried to turn his head further to look at the sobbing Interion. "You might shake her if she won't shut up, though."

Jool broke off with a choke. "*Frell* you! I thought they'd *killed* you!" She sounded utterly outraged at the ingratitude.

Tacer blinked. "Uh. All right. I... appreciate the concern, but I've got the antigen now, so I'll be fine. Eventually. Don't... don't worry about me." He twitched. "Frell. I still can't move, though. Could somebody prop me up against the wall?"  
The 'somebody' struck Chiana as pointless, since she was the only non-paralyzed person present. She dutifully dragged Tacer over to the wall. "Antigen to what?"

"Nasty little neuropathogen. Kills slowly and it only affects Generated. Most people don't use it at all. Not much good for a soldier. Leave it to Grovas..." Tacer drew in another deep breath. "I didn't finish with your questions... I don't know where Grovas will've taken Crichton and Aeryn. We should be able to find them, with some work. But first... well, first I need to get mobile... and I want to figure out where to place the explosives. Visit the docking shaft. Everything at the same time."

Chiana grimaced, not happy. But she still didn't know enough about Bastarrex to go off on her own... not yet, anyway... and she certainly couldn't leave Tacer and Jool by themselves, paralyzed. She'd make sure Tacer was fully recovered, and *then* she'd decide what to do.


	16. ** 15 **

Aeryn was unceremoniously dumped to the floor, on top of John. From the muffled *oof* she heard, some weight at least must be on his ribcage. But since the paralyzing gas hadn't worn off yet -- she was wondering when it was going to -- neither of them could move, and so neither of them could do anything about it.

They seemed to have stopped to discuss where they were going next. The Elite apparently weren't sure. Aeryn listened for a while, but after several hundred microts of one specialist explaining repeatedly to the specialist in charge that they weren't sure where they should be looking, and the specialist in charge determinedly not comprehending, it started to seem rather pointless. It became more pointless when she realized she was regaining some mobility in her hands and arms. Unfortunately, the soldiers were fully alert and paying attention to the specialists *and* the prisoners.

It seemed John was also regaining some mobility -- he was starting to move, or at least try to. Not that he was likely to have any luck; not only was he probably still two-thirds paralyzed, but she was lying on top of him.

A fact of which she was becoming uncomfortably aware as he started to shift around.

After another few twitches, John spoke. "Aeryn? You all right?"

He sounded... strange. Was *he* all right? Panic threatened briefly. He hadn't looked injured. She didn't know what could be wrong. Why would he be... off?

//Because you're lying on top of him, idiot.//

"Aeryn?" he repeated, more urgently, and she realized she hadn't answered him.

"I'm fine," she replied. "You?"

"Oh, just wonderful."

She tried to turn her head to look down at him. Maybe he sounded strange because her hair was in his face. "Crichton..."

"No, honest, Aeryn. M'fine. I just can't move." He tried to move again even as he spoke, and as before, succeeded only in shifting a little. "Can you get much of a look at our current tour guides?" he whispered.

//'Tour guides'?// "I can see them, not that it does us any good," she whispered back. "They're just trying to decide where to go."

"Doesn't know much about Bastarrex," John murmured. "God, poor Tacer. What do you think they did to him?"

The Elite had been bone-white, limp, and gasping for air when Aeryn last saw him. He'd claimed he'd be all right, but... "Shot him with some sort of needler," Aeryn replied -- John hadn't, after all, asked her opinion on Tacer's actual condition. And any sort of conversation was a useful distraction. "White needles, I think."

"Huh. That's weird. He only told us about blue, red, and yellow-green." Yet another movement underneath her -- he didn't seem to be willing to accept that moving would not make the gas wear off any faster. "...and has it occurred to you that the Ashkren went a little overboard with the color-coding?"

Aeryn had to smile at that. It did seem a little absurd. "Well, I *would* have thought they could tell they were on a medical level without everything being violet..."

"Exactly my point. The green was bad enough, but this just looks stupid." His hand flailed briefly in her peripheral vision. "The only interior decorator who'd do a ceiling in deep purple is... uh... a Prince fanatic? The ceiling formerly known as purple..."

//It obviously hasn't affected his brain.// Aeryn made another few attempts at moving -- not a success. "Crichton. Tacer said that... Etael... was still here?" she said, as softly as she could.

"Uh-huh." He was also very quiet -- happily, the Elite didn't seem to be trying to listen.

"Did you get the impression that she might be... a viable alternative?" Aeryn was personally *not* fond of the idea, but she was somewhat -- prejudiced -- on the subject. But despite the way Etael had seemed casually ignorant of her existence as anything other than a genetic sample, Etael's *troops* had at least treated her like a person.

"To these guys? Yeah... but I'm not ready to give up on Tacer just yet." John paused. "Aeryn... this *really* isn't the best time for this... but there's somethin' else you should know. Remember that yellow dot on the hologram?"

Whatever he was about to tell her, he didn't want to. "Yes. Some non-Elite, I gather?"

A long silence, then, "Uh, yeah. Furlow."

"Furlow," Aeryn repeated hollowly. It apparently hadn't quite sunk in. At any microt, she knew, reaction would hit...

"Um. Yes. Alone, we think -- and she can't know very much about Bastarrex, frell, even the Elite don't know very much--" He was speaking very quickly, probably trying to distract her.

Not necessary. Aeryn was pleased to realize that her calm was not deserting her after all. "I'm going to kill her."

# # # # #

Hajen led the way out of the Marauder and stopped abruptly, bringing all the Peacekeepers behind her to a halt as well. Venbren saw a flicker of surprise cross the Elite's face before it resumed its eternally neutral expression. "That shouldn't be here."

The object of Hajen's attention was some sort of ship. Venbren looked at it. "Why not? This is a docking bay. One *generally* finds ships there."

"That's not a Maker ship. That's an Elite ship. It can't have been here for more than a few solar days. And they were ordered to evacuate." Hajen walked slowly towards the ship, eyes narrowed. "It must be Etael. Frell!" That was probably the most emotion Venbren had seen the Elite show yet. "I thought Iber would have been able to control her. And--" Hajen's face grew stiller yet. "That should be here even less."

Looking past the commandos securing the docking bay, Venbren saw what she was looking at now and had to agree. It was a very beat-up cargo hauler, probably the one the 'surveillance comet' had detected. "Officer, take your team and secure that vessel," he ordered immediately. "Elite, is that ship likely to be trapped?"

"Possibly. It's deserted." Hajen looked distinctly displeased. "But it means there are at least five Elite here. Probably more, maybe as many as thirty."

Venbren scanned the room quickly. "Where?"

"Somewhere in Bastarrex." Hajen also scanned the room, almost involuntarily. "But it's a very big station." A pause. "Can your techs track a signal? If Etael is commanding this group, I may be able to... persuade her to return a communication."

"Get the techs and set it up," Venbren ordered another officer. "Now."

# # # # #

Feeling pretty pleased with herself, Chiana looked at the lift control panel. "So I just hit any green one?"

"How many green ones are there?" Tacer asked. "Uh... *are* there any green keys which aren't also red?"

Chiana examined the panel again. "No. Is that important?"

"Grovas will probably head for a weapons auxiliary command station eventually. Can't say which one." Tacer managed what looked like it was supposed to be a shrug. "Try something gray. I think maintenance levels should be good for moving around."

"All right." Chiana made sure no one's feet were in the way of the door and pressed a gray key. As the lift hummed into life, she turned to look down at her two companions. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," Tacer said.

"Ridiculous," Jool snapped.

Chiana rolled her eyes. "Princess, Tacer said we didn't have time for the paralysis to wear off. Did you want to get left there in the hall?"

"No, of course we didn't," Tacer said before Jool could reply. "And the magcart was a great idea. Good work finding it. But you've got me lying so my arm's jammed into my pack and it's going numb. My arm, I mean." He twisted his head around to look at her and frowned. "You okay, Chiana? You look a little troped..."

"Worried about Crichton," she said shortly. "Bad things -- happen when he gets captured by wormhole scientists." That was an understatement.

"Ah." Tacer returned his gaze to the ceiling and sighed. "I won't lie to you and say he'll be fine. I honestly have no idea. But unless Grovas is a lot stupider than his reputation would have, he won't inflict any permanent damage. And we'll be able to find them pretty quickly from a command center." He frowned. "Retrieving them will be trickier. I wonder if I could get Etael to step in somehow... Could you do something about my arm?"

Chiana rolled her eyes and moved Tacer's arm just as the lift finally stopped at a maintenance level. She hauled the cart out -- actually more of a sled, since it used some sort of gravity thing to stay off the ground -- and looked around. "Now where?"

"Find another lift," Tacer replied at once. "And look for a command post... I just hope this thing doesn't set off any alarms."

"Thing?" Chiana repeated, and could have smacked herself. "You mean, you mean the cart?"

"Yes. I don't think I would since we're the only things on it, but..." Tacer looked like he was considering. "Hard to say. It's just I think these things were usually used to move missiles." He paused. "Well, no need to dwell on it. There should be a lift not too far away." One arm twitched, then he opened and closed his hand a few times. "Good. I think it's starting to wear off."

Jool twitched a little. "I still can't move."

"I'm an Elite. We metabolize drugs relatively quickly." Tacer moved again, and smiled. "Yes, it's definitely wearing off. That lift ought to work, Chiana. We'll just--"

"Etael, I'm surprised to find you still here." Chiana jumped, Tacer started, and Jool squeaked -- it was that frelling central comm again.

Tacer groaned. "That's *Hajen*," he said. "Frell!"

Before Chiana could ask who Hajen was -- the name was familiar from somewhere -- the comm blared again. "I understood Central Jurisdate gave orders to avoid conflict with the Peacekeepers. Surely you haven't brought your people here against orders, without hope of backup?"

Chiana winced. "Should I, uh, take this to mean this Hajen person has brought Peacekeepers here?"

"Yessss..." Tacer's voice trailed off in a hiss.

Hajen continued over the comm, sounded detached and faintly amused. "Although I am curious to know how you got anyone to agree to accompany you on this... little quest."

Tacer spoke softly. "Hajen's trying to provoke Etael into responding. Maybe she thinks -- Hajen thinks -- she'll be able to trace Etael's location from a reply. Let's keep going. I want to get to a command center before I decide what to do. If anything." He half-smirked. "I bet Grovas is pretty startled, anyway."

Chiana obediently shoved the cart into the lift and hit a green button, but gave Tacer a wary look. "Just what are you thinking of doing?"

The comm went on again. "Surely they don't think you have any chance of succeeding."

"Shut up, Hajen," Tacer muttered. "Not sure what I'm going to do. I just have this marvelous picture in my head of Grovas, Etael, and Hajen having a ferocious argument from three completely different locations, over an open comm... But of course that would be a complete waste of time and resources." Tacer smiled wistfully. "It's a nice thought, though, isn't it? I really just need to get the Peacekeepers and Grovas's group in my locator program. Once we know where they are and what they're doing, then we can decide what to do next."

"I assumed we were going to rescue Crichton and Aeryn," Chiana said.

"Yes... but we don't know *how*... and I might have to decide--"

Comm: "But with your close relationship to Central Jurisdate, I'm a little surprised you disobeyed orders at all. What are your commanders thinking now?

Tacer rolled his eyes and continued with his sentence. "--how to destroy Bastarrex first. With Grovas and Hajen here, it's getting a little more urgent." Tacer twitched, then managed to prop himself up on his elbows. "Much better. I think the docking shaft idea just isn't going to work out -- sure, there'd be a shock wave, but--"

Chiana did not like the sound of this. "No. We go after Crichton and Aeryn first, *then* deal with... blowing stuff up."

Tacer shook his head quickly. "I'm not saying we won't go after Crichton and Aeryn. We will. I just want to be ready--"

Comm: "Your old unit... your crechemates... the last thing they're ever going to hear about you is that you mutinied."

"She doesn't even know I'm here and she still keeps interrupting me," Tacer muttered, and sighed. "I want to be ready to detonate before I go charging into a fight against a full escort unit -- in case something goes wrong." He sat up, shakily, just as the lift doors opened, then staggered to his feet. "I think I can tow the magcart for a while. Come on -- this is a secondary command nexus, should work well." He took off quickly. Jool, on the cart, appeared to be keeping quiet for a while.

//Oh no you don't.// Chiana caught up with him quickly. "Crichton and Aeryn are more important than any frelling detonators!"

"I never said they weren't and you're oversimplifying." Tacer's voice was low. "We're going to help them. But I am also going to keep the Peacekeepers from leaving with any Maker technology, in the short term, and keep anyone from getting the dangerous parts, in the long term."

Comm: "But no. You're a specialist. Specialists don't care about comrades -- just experiments."

//Frell!// Tacer was right -- Hajen was getting really irritating. "Is it -- is this even really our problem?" Chiana ventured.

"It's mine." Tacer glanced into another room -- some sort of command facility, of course -- and shrugged, turning into it. "This'll do. Jool, I'll need your hand for the genescan." He gently lifted the Interion out of the cart and propped her in a chair. "The paralysis should wear off soon. Don't worry."

Comm: "And now, oddly enough, you've sacrificed that as well. You're never going to--"

After some rapid action by Tacer at the console controls, the sound abruptly decreased to an almost inaudible level. "*That's* better," Tacer said. "On we go..."

Chiana watched, hands on hips, and Tacer identified himself... Jool... well, all of them, really... as 'Director Hovalis' and began accessing surveillance. Soon another spherical hologram appeared -- true to form, the projector turned out to be the table Chiana was leaning on -- Bastarrex augmented with blue and yellow lights, and a few microts later, a bright red point of light appeared. It was followed by an orange light. Unsurprisingly, the orange dot was in exactly the same position in which Chiana had 'seen' it earlier. Tacer remained seated at the console, hands flickering nervously over the controls.

"I'm trying the make sure there's no one else in here with us -- other than the ones we have marked, I mean. Looks like not--" Tacer paused. "Or not yet, anyway. This is *all* we need."

"What? *What*?"

Tacer rubbed his eyes. "I just accessed the major datanet -- in Elite space, I mean, not in Bastarrex. There are unconfirmed reports of a Scarran stealth vessel moving in this direction. May have to break out the red needles after all." He frowned, glaring at the console as if it were personally responsible for the situation. "At least Etael should give in now. We need to destroy this."

Jool spoke at last. "Why are you so insistent about it? What is this about? Trying to erase any evidence the Ashkren ever existed?"

"Frell no," Tacer replied, snorting. "To do that we'd have to wipe *ourselves* out."

"Then why?"

Tacer looked at Jool for a few microts. "It has nothing to do with the Makers, really," he said. "Not everything does. You -- the Interions -- only saw their benign side, anyway. But for all the bad things we can say about them, and we can say quite a few, we have to admit that they were responsible with their technology. They never employed massive weaponry just because they could. Never blasted planets apart with antimatter. Never left a trail of singularities across known space. Never let antimatter and singularities get into the hands of people who *would* use them irresponsibly." Tacer shook his head. "And it only takes *one* irresponsible use of a singularity. There's no way to repair things -- just a huge area *gone*, and everything else nearby slowly being pulled in. So long, civilization as we know it."

"Oh," Jool said in a small voice.

# # # # #

John was getting really, really, *really* tired of Hajen Izvareth. The woman simply would not shut up. It had gotten to the point that Grovas had actually delegated one of the other specialists to try to figure out how to block Hajen off from the general comms, but so far they hadn't been very successful -- which meant Hajen was still trying to provoke Etael over the comms, Grovas was grinding his teeth, and John was On Edge. The only good side of it was that Aeryn was distracted from the subject of Furlow.

Well, the other good side of it was that while Grovas was fuming about the monologue, he wasn't trying anything to do with wormhole information. At the moment John was merely handcuffed back to back with Aeryn and under guard, but before being interrupted by the Public Speaker of the Year the group had traveled to what was obviously some sort of laboratory.

Complete with table. With restraints.

One of the younger soldiers had cleaned the table of its thin coating of dust and checked all the restraints for any problems. (John had managed to figure out how to tell which Elite were older and which were younger without visible signs of aging -- the younger an Elite was, the fewer and less defined their facial markings.) Grovas had been speaking with another specialist, the latter shooting frequent glances in John's direction, when Hajen spoke up on the central comm and distracted them.

John wasn't sure how much longer they'd stay distracted. //I am so frelled.//

Abruptly, Hajen's voice cut off mid-word. One of the techs who'd accompanied Grovas spoke to someone through another comm, quietly, then reported to Grovas. "She's still there, sir, but we've cut off the feed to the general speakers on this level. It's being monitored in auxiliary command."

Grovas nodded. "Finally. The ditenufine?"

The specialist Grovas had been talking to earlier spoke up. "Yes, sir, a sufficient amount, but if possible it should be tested before use. We have no data on ditenufine's long-term chemical behavior."

"Will it jeopardize future procedures?" Grovas asked.

The specialist shook his head. "Not enough data, sir. Probably not. A quick scan would reveal any toxins."

"Do it." The specialist nodded and vanished again.

//Frell. Frell.// John clenched his teeth. //Well, we've seen the physical... we've certainly seen the psychological... and the mental, I don't think that was even on the list... but to round it out, now we have *chemical* interrogation!// "I wonder if Amnesty International gives out any sort of award for surviving every classification of torture," he muttered. "Aeryn, you ever heard of... the drug thingy they were talking about?"

"No," she replied tensely. "Elite origins."

"Right..." John sighed. He really doubted the drugs would produce any wormhole information at all. After all, the *Chair* hadn't managed it. //They're going to keep me alive. They won't kill me now. This won't hurt me. Permanently. They're going to keep me alive -- ah, frell.// He was starting to shake.

"Crichton?" Aeryn asked softly.

"It's -- uh -- it's just fatigue. I'm tired," John said quickly -- and unconvincingly, he knew, but he had to make the effort. "Tired. That's all." No need to try to explain to Aeryn how he was trembling in fear of a drug he'd never even heard of before. It wasn't as if he even knew anything about chemical interrogation in general; the subject had remained not only academic but unknown, thankfully... until this. //They'll be back any minute now. Doesn't take long to check for toxins.// And then they'd haul him to the table, strap him in place--

Frell. He was shaking harder. Of all the times to fall apart, why *now*?

"It *is* fatigue. Breaks down control." Aeryn's words were matter-of-fact, but John imagined he could hear concern in her voice. "Don't -- worry about it."

She was trying to help. To give him an excuse for breaking down, to convince him it didn't matter. "Thanks," he whispered, closing his eyes. He didn't believe it for a microt, but the gesture meant a lot.

"Sir, there are no toxins..." The specialist was back, frell. "But the composition *has* changed somewhat. Further tests--"

"Can be conducted at a later date." Hmm, Grovas, not listening to expert advice, are you? "You have your orders, soldiers. Proceed."

John tried to just stay limp, he really did, but when they started to strap him to the table he panicked and began to struggle wildly to escape. The soldiers holding him had no difficulty pinning him down -- like Tacer, they were apparently stronger than they looked. The restraints were padded, presumably so he wouldn't injure himself fighting to get loose. John tried to gather the shreds of his dignity and managed to slow his breathing, but he decided it was best if he just waited with his eyes *closed* for the sting of the injector in his neck. Otherwise he'd keep panicking -- God, what was Grovas thinking -- frell Grovas, what was *Aeryn* thinking, seeing him like this, falling apart -- sure, she'd said it was fatigue, but she knew he was really just panicking--

*sting*

//Ah, frell...//


	17. ** 16 **

"Yes, I know I was the one who said we had to hurry, but if I *don't* clean up Etael and Grovas will probably be able to track me by smell," Tacer said. "I don't know if you've noticed it, but my immune system's... valiant attempt to ward off a pathogen designed to circumvent it resulted in a lot of sweat. I need a shower and I need to run my clothes through a cleanser."

"Fine, fine," Chiana replied. "I was just pointing out what you said." Though Tacer was right -- he *did* smell. "So we're going back to a, ah, habitation level?"

Tacer nodded, shuffling through has hardcopy schematics again. "There's one just a level up, if we take the conduits. How are you two managing?"

Jool opened her mouth on what just *had* to be a litany of complaints, so Chiana quickly spoke over her. "We're all right for now. Just getting a little tired. But I'm still worried about Crichton."

"Well, me, too." He waved a hand down the hall. "C'mon. This way. I've been thinking about strategy for placing explosives, so we can get done with it as soon as possible."

"Good." Chiana waited for a moment. "Well?"

"Um, despite what I said to Crichton about the 'main reactor' thing, there are some things here which can make pretty substantial explosions. I want to set off as many of them as possible, but avoid too much overlap -- maybe I should look for some extra detonators to stick on the generators... but for now I want to get some of these into secondary conduit junctions. And set the detonators." He started to pass them with the intention of getting the access panel. "Can't be more than two or three solar days..."

She stopped him. "No, I can get that." Opening the access panels was a useful skill which she needed to practice. "Two or three solar days until what?" Chiana asked when he didn't elaborate, *again*. //Elite!//

Tacer shook his head. "I can't set the timer for more than two or three solar days. There's too high a risk of the Peacekeepers or some other group leaving with information. But if I set it for too short a time, we'll get blown up, too."

Jool sighed ostentatiously. "I'll have had the shortest tenure ever as director, I suppose."

"I doubt it, actually. Etael would know." Tacer frowned again, then abruptly perked up. "Hey, Hajen's shut up!" A pause. "Of course now I have no idea what she's doing... but at least I don't have to listen to her anymore."

The short trip to the habitation level was uneventful. Tacer quickly located a 'cleanser unit.' He took a moment to point out a nearby computer terminal that they could use if they wanted to, then turned towards the shower, already unfastening his jacket and dropping it on the floor. As he proceeded across the room, the jacket was followed by his boots, then his belt, then his shirt. Chiana watched, smirking, as Jool flushed. Tacer was in the process of kicking off his pants when he disappeared through the shower room door.

He reappeared a few microts later -- wearing only shorts, holding his undershirt and looking aggrieved -- and quickly gathered the discarded clothing. "Forgot I had to put all this in the cleanser..." he muttered. If he realized he was running around half-naked and embarrassing Jool, he didn't show it. Not that he would.

Of course, Chiana realized, it was also very possible that he didn't consider it an embarrassing situation. //The Elite probably aren't interested in anything so strategically irrelevant as modesty... pity we couldn't see more of that base we were on!//

# # # # #

He wasn't in any pain so far. Didn't hurt much at all. In fact, John was starting to get very relaxed. It'd been such a long time since he completely relaxed he almost hadn't recognized how it felt. Intoxication really wasn't an adequate substitute. John sighed happily and closed his eyes -- hey, his muscles were relaxing, too! Ouch, that shoulder hurt...

"Initial exa.....ithin standar..."

That was, that was... an Elite scientist, that was it! John opened his eyes just long enough to note that it was also an Elite *medic* -- he was really starting to get the hang of these facial markings.

"...ve only an esti.....ideal respira.....but from what we.....ceptable levels.....ink you can begin."

What was up with his voice, though? Sounded like he was on a radio with lousy reception. "Weird," John noted. He opened his eyes again to see if he could see anything wrong... yep, see if he could see... but blinked as he realized there was a new Elite by the table -- someone he recognized but, he, *thought*, didn't like much. He fumbled briefly for the name. "Oh, s'you," John said finally, remembering. "Grovas. Bastard. D'ya fall in th' paintbox or did you put on those stripes on purpose t' boost your position?"

Grovas didn't seem to appreciate his joke at all. "I have.....stions."

"You're fadin' in an' out, too," John said helpfully. "Y'wanna adjust your reception? No, wait, it'd be my reception with a problem... I better check the tuner..." Somewhere in his head that just didn't seem right, but it also didn't seem terribly important at the moment.

"I *said* I have some *questions*!" Grovas snapped.

"No need to yell... What sorta questions? Twenty questions? I'm thinkin' of somethin' that--"

"Shut up."

"Sure, sure, fine, don't hafta stress, 't's bad for your heart..." Geez, the guy was going to pop a vein if he wasn't careful.

Grovas ground his teeth. "Are -- you -- John -- Crichton?"

He wasn't fading in and out anymore, but he was really loud and talking strange, not to mention what he was doing to his teeth. "Yes -- I -- am. John Robert Crichton, Jr. And y'know that's really bad for your teeth? Should listen to your dentist."

Wheeling away from the table, Grovas snarled at some other Elite. John caught only bits and pieces of the conversation, something about whether something was working and chemical decay and physiological differences. It didn't really seem to concern him so he closed his eyes again. He was *tired*.

All too soon, Grovas was trying to get his attention. "Crichton! Listen to me!"

"What?" John asked irritably.

"What do you know about wormholes?"

//Oh, that's original.// "Why is everyone so frellin' interested in wormholes?" John asked. "They're frelling annoying, that's what they are. Never there when you need 'em, always there when you *don't*. Take my advice. Sea monkeys."

Grovas blinked. "I -- what?"

"Sea monkeys. Get some sea monkeys instead." John paused thoughtfully. "Or a pet rock. Those are low-maintenance. Chia Pets aren't much trouble either. But if you gotta do a science experiment go with the sea monkeys... or there're some kits you can grow crystals with... or hey, one of those cool globe things with the electricity inside..."

Grovas really did look like he was going to have a stroke or a seizure or something at any moment. Funny, he'd thought Elite were healthier than that.

"Some people find goldfish really relaxing," John added. "You might try that. Or you *could* start a worm farm if you really wanted to. Just make sure you don't get giant flesh-eating millipedes by mistake..."

# # # # #

"That happened once in a movie, y'know. Supposed to be worms... they weren't worms... terrible movie. Had lots of wormholes in it, though. Wormy holes." John giggled. "What was I saying?"

Aeryn was starting to worry that Grovas was going to lose control and give John a serious injury. The interrogation drug was evidently not working as expected -- or at least not as desired. The medic who'd administered the drug didn't seem very shocked at John's... aimless meanderings. It was hard to tell just how much it was affecting him, since he was so often incomprehensible when *not* drugged with some Elite truth serum.

The medic -- probably an interrogation specialist -- held up a hand to keep Grovas from speaking and said in a firm but calm tone, "You were explaining how one creates a wormhole."

"Can't," John said petulantly. "Everyone can get the equations except me. It's not fair."

Even a truth serum couldn't make you tell something you didn't know... or something buried inaccessibly in your subconscious. For that matter, Aeryn wasn't as convinced as the Elite seemed to be that the drug would even work normally on John. She seemed to recall an Elite drug not having any noticeable effect on her.

"*What*?" Grovas did not sound happy. "That's -- is he lying?

"Um, he shouldn't be, sir." The specialist frowned, and addressed John again. "Do you know how to create wormholes? *Wormholes*, not... worm holes."

"Sorta. The equations are in there... somewhere... totally inaccessible... hafta be unlocked... can't find the key... D minor..."

//D minor?// But the drug did seem to be working. Aeryn was sure John would never have normally admitted the presence of even inaccessible equations.

Grovas gave the specialist a questioning look. "Well?"

"I'm not sure, sir. It might mean that *he* has no conscious knowledge of the equations, in which case standard procedures would be inadequate." The specialist frowned. "I could check the chemical stocks here, but it might be better to move him to a better facility."

"I see." Grovas scowled. "And with Hajen's Peacekeepers all over the facility." He turned to address the other Elite. "First team -- find out how many Peacekeepers are on Bastarrex, and their positions. Don't eliminate them yet -- just be ready to. Second team -- if Etael is here, locate her and any escort she may have brought. Don't alert them to your presence. First specialist team, look for any... nonstandard procedures available. Third team, guard duty."

There was a chorus of disciplined affirmatives from the Elite present, most of whom left, including the interrogation specialist. Aeryn didn't like the direction this seemed to be taking. //Just what is a 'nonstandard procedure'? And what will it do to John?//

Crichton himself, apparently oblivious to the proceedings, seemed to have gone to sleep.

Aeryn was just starting to struggle futilely against her wrist binders again when there was a beep. It sounded like a computer noise.

One of the remaining Elite crossed quickly to a console. "Sir? There's a... complication."

"Now what?"

"The, uh... the computer wants to know my authorization for extended use of experimental organisms."

# # # # #

Chiana made good use of the short time Tacer was in the shower. She didn't really know how to work the computer, but Jool did -- more or less -- and armed with the access code of 'Director Hovalis' they could look at anything they liked. And, Chiana had decided, if they couldn't rescue Crichton until they'd set up explosives, then she would have to expedite setting up the explosives. By the time the shower's hiss ceased, she'd located the nearest missile storage and was working on finding the fastest paths from it to what looked like conduit junctions.

She turned as Tacer reentered the room, carrying his jacket and boots. "Come look at this. I think I've mapped about where we need to go."

"*We* mapped," Jool corrected.

"Yeah, whatever, princess." Chiana pointed to the screen. "Take a look."

"Looks pretty good," Tacer acknowledged. As he bent slightly to look at the screen, Chiana's eyes narrowed. There were two small red patches stuck low on his neck, one directly above his spine, the other over what was probably a major artery.

What was it Crichton had said about stimulant patches?

# # #

However the Ashkren had usually transported antimatter warheads, it couldn't have been in the maintenance lifts, because the frelling magcart barely fit. Because the cart was taking up so much of the floorspace, the two warheads were on end, propped against the wall in one corner. Jool remained in the opposite corner, like that was any safer.

Chiana just leaned on the wall by the warheads. She was too tired to move around unnecessarily. Jool was less economic of movement, but still clearly exhausted. Tacer, however, no longer looked tired at all, casually flipping through hardcopies just as if he hadn't been awake for at least the past solar day. And he hadn't exactly been energetic then. //But I think I can guess why...// She'd *seen* those things he'd stuck on his shoulders. The stimulant patches were concealed by the Elite's jacket; maybe he thought he could get away with it without their noticing.

Not this time.

She chose her moment carefully, when they were leaving the lift and Tacer was half-distracted getting the warheads back onto the magcart in the corridor. "So, think *I* could get one of those neat little patches?"

To give him credit, he barely missed a beat. "No."

"Why not?"

"*What* patches?" Jool put in as the lift doors closed behind them. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, these little red patches, about this big," Chiana made a small circle with her thumb and forefinger, "that Tacer has stuck on his neck."

Jool turned to look at Tacer. "What is she talking about?"

Tacer muttered something inaudible and shook his head. "You'll have to ask her. Come on, we have to get moving."

"I think you *do* know," Chiana pressed. "Not that I'm criticizing or anything. I just think it might be handy to get a stimulant myself. Particularly one that works as well as these seem to on you. You look very energized." She paused, but he only rolled his eyes and continued pushing the magcart down the corridor. "So, what do you say? Can I have one?"

"Ah -- no. Get that door."

She obeyed, but didn't give up. "Why not?"

"Why are you using stimulants at all?" Jool asked.

"*Because* we are in a hurry," Tacer replied. "I can't take the time to get *enough* sleep, and at this point a little sleep wouldn't help. Not very much, anyway. And I also can't risk getting careless and making mistakes because I'm tired."

"You'd rather make mistakes because your adrenal system is overloaded?" Jool replied pointedly if incomprehensibly (at least to Chiana).

Tacer shook his head quickly. "I know what I'm doing. *But*," he said, turning back to Chiana, "I can't give you a stimulant because it's designed for Elite, you're *not* an Elite, and it *would* overload your adrenal system. You'd collapse in a few arns, and before that it'd have a lot of undesirable side effects. So -- no."

"And it won't give *you* any undesirable side effects?"

"Um, yes, that's right, none whatsoever." Ignoring her disbelieving look, Tacer consulted the hardcopies. "I think we're at about the right place. Let's find a storeroom or... somewhere else to stash one of these."

# # # # #

All the Elite were shouting at each other. Well, all right, it was only Grovas shouting at one other Elite, but it *sounded* like a whole roomful of people shouting. John was annoyed to realize that he couldn't plug his ears with his arms strapped down. "Will you keep it down? Some've us're tryin' to sleep here..."

They didn't listen. Another one was talking now. "Sir, we *have* to move them or the computer will decide we're in revolt. It doesn't trust Elite, sir."

"I thought you said it wasn't self-aware!"

"I said I didn't know, sir! And yes, Etael must be getting around it somehow, but she's studied Bastarrex for cycles. I haven't, sir! We have to take them back to the... other laboratory... storage location... whatever it's supposed to be called, or the computer will decide we're in revolt and kill us."

"We can't just--"

"*Now*, sir."

"Fine. Specialist, get them ready for transport, I'll have third team regroup for an escort--"

"No time, sir!"

And then someone was unstrapping his arms from the table and pulling him upright. John immediately stuck his fingers in his ears and glared at the Elite, even though his vision seemed a little... wobbly. "You guys're the most *incompetent* supersoldiers..." He felt the impact of a blow to his face, but strangely enough, no pain. "'S funny... right... mus' be the drug you gave me... whoa..." He staggered into one of his escorts. "Haven't felt like this since we ran outa raslak..."

"Will you make him be quiet?"

"The drug is supposed to make subjects verbal, sir--"

"Is that a no?"

"Uh, yes, sir. Sorry, sir, it will have to wear off."

"And how long will that take?"

"At this dosage... at least a few more arns, sir. Gaith, did you handle the computer?"

"I assured it we were returning them right away. Where is third team anyway, I thought they were supposed to be on guard duty?"

"Not sure."

"They're looking for any direct data available. Now both of you, pay attention to your duty."

"Yes, sir."

"Yes, sir. This way, sir."

Oooohhh, another lift. Where were they going? Oh, right, returning the experimental subjects, whatever they were... "Oh yeah, 's me. Stupid computer. Like bein' called primitive everywhere I go's not bad enough, s'gotta call me a lab rat." Lab rat, like... "Reminds me of NamTar. Freaky guy. Lab rat now. Y'know, I wonder if he was usin' Ashkren genetic techniques?" //No, no, wait...// "Whoa, sorry, Aeryn. That wasn't very sensitive. Sorry. M'really sorry."

"That's all right, John." Her voice was low and very calm, and though he thought he could hear some strain, she didn't seem to be upset with him. The Elite were all still upset, though.

"What's NamTar?"

"I don't know, sir. I could ask him...?"

"No. Shut him up."

"Sir, ditenufine's effects--"

Out of the lift already. Short trip. This level was purple and black. "Now it looks like a castle in mourning... with no taste."

"I don't care about ditenufine's effects. Shut him up."

"But--"

"We're here, sir. We can put them in anywhere along here."

"Fine. Do it."

One of the Elite did something to a wall, and it turned out to be a door, which opened. John was pushed through it. He stumbled and fell. "Ow..." The door closed a few microts later after they pushed Aeryn in. She didn't fall over, but she was still cuffed. "You okay, baby? Oooops, sorry, Aeryn. Sorry. Just not thinkin' before I talk today, I guess, those stupid Elite drugged me or something..."

"It's all right, John. Could you look at my restraints and see if you can unfasten them?"

"Sure..." He looked vaguely around the room. It was very boring, but at least it wasn't so oppressively purple, just a uniform boring beige. "Maybe they didn't want their experimental subjects driven insane by the decor... not that Calming Salmon can't do that to a person, too. The Peacekeepers ever try out Calming Salmon or Soothing Pink?"

"No, John. Could you try and get these restraints off me now?"

"Right, right..." John blinked at the handcuffs. "Uh, wonder if these lock or just fasten. It'd make sense for 'em to lock, but this looks kinda like it might... Hey, they opened!"

Aeryn got to her feet, stripped off the handcuffs. "All right, John," she said firmly but evenly, "I'm going to look around. You... stay there. And don't try to stand."

"Why not? I can... ow."

Aeryn pulled him to his feet and steered him over to a padded bench. "Stay here." Her calm sounded sorta strained. "Don't try to stand, don't try to look around, don't try to follow me. I will be right back."

"Okay... have a nice trip..."


	18. ** 17 **

The console screen, stubbornly silent a microt before, came to life with a display of diagrammed nucleic acids, genetic sequences, activation codes, and phenotype cross-references, appearing and disappearing as the computer brought each of them up. A blinking white light in the screen's corner indicated that it was indeed all being copied to the data modules loaded in the local ports. Etael let out a huge sigh and sank back in her chair.

Another sector cracked.

They'd successfully copied the data of just over three-fourths of Bastarrex's genetics labs. Unfortunately, Etael knew the remaining fourth would take longer -- not because of any difference in the lab security, but because *something* had put the Bastarrex central computer 'on guard'.

If you could say that about a computer.

Etael just felt lucky that she'd gotten to the computer while it was still on standby. She hadn't been able to get as much access as she'd hoped -- frelling genetic keys -- but she'd gotten pretty deep into the computer's programming all the same. Enough, hopefully, to ensure that it didn't decide that she and her team were a security risk. It had already concluded as much about Grovas and probably Hajen, though possibly it was just closely watching because the latter was with a group of Sebaceans. On the other side, she still hadn't been able to get the computer to even admit Tacer's existence, which meant he'd somehow gotten very high access indeed. She seriously didn't know what was the most worrying, Hajen trying to give Bastarrex to the Peacekeepers, Grovas doing whatever the frell he was doing, or Tacer trying to detonate the base around all of them. She just *knew* that's what he would be trying to do. She'd have to have been deaf not to, the way Lashan always complained about the project. Crystal Rod this, Crystal Rod that...

And then of course there was that... other person. According to the technician monitoring everyone's position, the... other person was blundering around one of the lab levels and seemed to have no idea how to operate anything, but this hadn't stopped her from collecting a variety of portable technological... implements. According to the tech, it looked like the intruder didn't really know what any of them did but was just grabbing everything that could be easily grabbed.

They were going to have to do something about that. Couldn't let... random people plunder Bastarrex.

Of course if she waited long enough Grovas or Hajen or Tacer might take care of it *for* her, but this was *her* frelling project...

...which someone was trying to detonate...

She'd have to talk to Tacer somehow -- the central comm was ruled out by Grovas and Hajen; even if Hajen knew she was there and Grovas had probably guessed, she didn't want them listening. Yes, Tacer could be unreasonable, but surely when she explained that they were three-fourths done with the compilation he'd understand and they could coordinate time schedules. Things would be a lot simpler that way.

Etael just wished she had the genetics expertise to know whether she'd compiled the data she really needed.

Surely Tacer would understand. Even if it *wasn't* a significant worry for him, personally, she recalled -- hybridization -- he'd understand why she was so concerned. After all, he actually had parents himself.

But even so...

Etael rose from her chair as the computer continued to copy its data. "Unit Leader Igir?"

"Specialist?"

"I think you had better have a team start looking for exit vessels. Oh, and put a trailer on that... other person. I may need it neutralized at short notice."

It was always best to look to the contingencies.

# # # # #

John was still mumbling incoherently to himself as Aeryn scrutinized the room once again. The effect of the interrogation drug seemed to have been to connect his brain directly to his mouth. And she'd thought he talked a lot *normally*.

Thus far, Aeryn hadn't found any way to get out of the... well, she also hadn't come up with a better term for it then 'room.' The frelling Ashkren had apparently had so many experimental subjects that walked around, talked, wore clothes, and expected some sort of sanitary facility that they had a whole section of... housing... for them. Everything -- the floor, the walls, the benches -- had a slight give to it, and was slightly warmer than she'd expect. There was a food dispenser in the wall.

There was also only one door, which was locked. There wasn't even a control panel on their side of it -- just as one might expect in a repository for experimental subjects. Pushing on it had unsurprisingly had no effects.

//There has to be a way to open it, though,// Aeryn thought again. //There always is. I just haven't found it yet.// She glared grimly at the door.

"Hey, Aeryn, whatcha doin'?"

//But am I going to find it before or after John recovers from that frelling drug?// She sighed and turned away from the uncooperative door. "I'm trying to get us out of here," she said. John looked alert, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. "How are you feeling?" In particular, there were several places where Grovas had hit him that would probably be hurting soon.

"Oh, fine, I think. Kinda funny. I mean strange-funny, not funny-funny, if you know what I mean... I dunno... guess I'm still kinda drugged... frell that stuff's weird... you findin' anything?"

"Not so far." Maybe -- conduits. The place seemed to be full of them; maybe there would be one she could access.

"Okay... I think maybe I'll take a nap... feel really relaxed, y'know. They could really market this stuff on Earth..." John trailed off into a yawn. "Okay?"

Aeryn nodded. "Yes, John. That's fine. Take a nap." He obviously couldn't concentrate to help at the moment. He might as well get some sleep, which hopefully would make him that much more effective when the drugs wore off. She hoped.

Another circuit of the room failed to reveal anything useful. Just the same four beige walls -- what had John called it? Calming Fish? //What do fish have to do with it? And *I* don't find it particularly calming.// She gave the wall a kick of frustration, and was immediately bracketed by scanners. //Frell -- camouflaged up near the ceiling. Now what is it going to do, gas me?// But the scanners turned off, and nothing happened.

Wearily, Aeryn went to the food dispenser and got a container of water; getting dehydrated would help nothing. Unfortunately, she'd taken a few large swallows before it sank in that the water tasted strange and she realized there were other ways than gas to be drugged. "Frell!"

"You okay, baby? Oops, sorry, sorry..." Not asleep after all. "Aeryn, you all right?"

"I'm fine, John." Aeryn sighed, and rejoined him on the bench -- it was long enough that there was room for her even with Crichton sprawled on his back. "Are you feeling any better?"

"Dunno, still drugged... you look funny upside down..." A faint frown. "But you don't look like you're feelin' very good. Like you haven't been sleepin'. Well, you haven't looked *fine* for a while now, I guess... wish I could do something to help... sorry, 'm sorry, can't keep my mouth shut..."

"It's all right, John." Aeryn couldn't keep herself from sighing again. "I know you want to help. I wish -- I wish there was something you could do, too, but... I think I need to work through this myself. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. S'not *your* fault." With some effort, John sat up, propping himself against the wall. "Frelling drugs... If I hadn't gone and--"

"If you hadn't been twinned, you'd have died after that explosion," Aeryn interrupted, her voice harsher than she'd intended.

"Wouldn't've hurt so much." He sounded very, very tired. "It did hurt. A lot. For me. You *left* me, Aeryn."

The pain in his voice went through her like a knife. "I -- John--"

Realization of what he had said hit him. The sudden transformation of his expression would have been comical under other circumstances. "Oh dren, m'sorry Aeryn, wasn't thinking, this frelling drug..."

"No, it's--" But it *wasn't* all right. Neither of them were all right, even beyond being imprisoned in an alien laboratory and drugged. She had enough emotional sense to realize *that*, at least. They were hurting and confused and... and lost. //How can we be sitting here together and *still* have lost each other?// "I -- I want to solve this, John. But -- I don't -- know how."

"Neither do I," he whispered. "Wish I did. Do you -- want to talk about -- how--"

"No," she said quickly. She did not want to talk about how she was feeling and anyway, just now that would be a waste of resources. //The drug doesn't seem as if it will wear off anytime soon...// "You tell me how *you* felt. When I was gone."

And she could listen.

# # # # #

The bright red warhead looked completely ridiculous sitting between bunks in the dimness of yet another habitation level barracks. It also stood out -- practically everything else in the barracks, like all of the other barracks, was dull black -- and they'd already seen that there were security cameras *everywhere*. Chiana grabbed a (black) sheet off the end of the nearest bunk and draped it over the warhead. "That's better. Where next? I think we've left bombs on a habitation level, a medical level, a -- training level, was it? -- couple of environmental levels, couple of command levels, a few weapon storage levels, a 'cold storage' level, and *lots* of maintenance levels. We going to be planting bombs in... what've we missed... Ashkren living rooms? Observation posts? Hangar?"

Tacer laughed. "No, we need to get some more warheads first, and then we'll hit some more maintenance levels, probably. You two made the plan."

Jool looked faintly affronted. "Well, I don't have it *memorized*. There aren't any real computer consoles here--"

"Well, of course not. Only Elite would have been here. No reason for them to be on a computer here. Whyever would they be using a computer in their rest period?" There was a trace of mockery in Tacer's tone, but it might have been directed at Jool, the Ashkren, or even himself. "You can access the computer back at munitions."

Three lift rides and several corridor transfers later, Tacer and Chiana were loading warheads onto the magcart again while Jool got into the computer. Chiana kept her eyes on Tacer's hands. While the Elite had been scouting ahead to see which way they should turn in a corridor, Jool had relayed in a whisper the early symptoms that would probably accompany problems with the stimulant patches, 'extrapolated' from her experience with Interions and academic knowledge of Elites -- difficulty focusing, flushed skin, visible blood vessels, and almost definitely tremors, most noticeable in the hands. Tacer, she thought, noticed her attention, but he said nothing. He seemed to be hoping that they'd forget about the stimulants.

Chiana, at least, wasn't going to.

While they worked, Jool went to the nearby control room to access the computer and find their next destinations. After a few hundred microts, though--

"Chiana?" Jool called. "The computer has 'alerts' for me. What does that mean?" Tacer looked surprised but immediately headed for the control room.

"How the frell should I know, Princess?" Chiana replied, following Tacer. "Ask the expert."

Tacer smiled at her briefly, then leaned over Jool's shoulder. "Huh, interesting -- one from the computer, and one from a 'subdirector of region five' -- that's got to be Etael. She must've figured out we created a director. Clever of her. We'd better see that one." He touched the screen.

Immediately, a two dimensional picture of an Elite appeared. The stripes were different, though Chiana had no idea what the difference meant. The Elite paused briefly, then spoke.

"Tacer. First, congratulations on creating a director. I had no idea you were so skilled with computers. Second, I do know you are planning on destroying Bastarrex, and since we seem to have acquired some Peacekeepers, I acknowledge that necessity. I do suggest some coordination of timetables."

Tacer sighed.

"We need a few more solar days, Tacer. You know how important this project is -- this may be the only opportunity we'll ever have to understand our genetics." The cool demeanor cracked a little. "Please, Tacer. You have parents. You understand." Then the crack was gone and the soldier was back. "This should enable you to contact me. I'll be waiting." The recording ended.

There was a silence.

"What did she mean?" Jool said after a while. "About parents."

Tacer's expression was closed. "Most Elite don't have anything that could be described as parents. Genetic programs -- I'm not sure how to explain this. We have a database of all Elite genes, even though we *don't* know what a lot of them do. We also have programs which assemble genetic permutations from the database. The specific sequences are then applied in the laboratory to create embryos, which are gestated artificially. That's where most Elite come from. But sometimes two people -- or one, or sometimes more -- apply for personal progeny. Not all the applications are granted, but there are never very many to start with."

"And then they have children in -- the usual way?" Jool asked.

"No." Tacer shook his head. "Then either the lab techs extract actual zygotes, or more often just access their specific genetic codes, and combine them, and the progeny is produced in *our* usual way. Gene combinations have to be known before time and resources are spent on gestation -- we're susceptible to many, many genetic disorders, and we have to check for them. And *nobody* would argue for that whole... pregnancy thing. Inefficient use of personnel. Can't imagine why the Peacekeepers still use it. Maybe their tech's not up to gestation..."

While Jool seemed to be following this without difficulty, Chiana had gotten lost back somewhere around *genetic permutations*. "Is there a point to all this?" she asked.

Tacer nodded, smiling faintly. "Lashan and I are siblings. We have parents. Etael has parents, too. Hers are getting... getting old. They're already getting entropy stripes, and that means they're very close to metabolic failure. Our... degenerative aging... happens very rapidly, within a few cycles, all at once. And we're genetically programmed for short lifespans."

"How short?" Chiana asked, but he just shook his head.

"Short enough. My parents are both technically hybrids. Twenty-third cluster substitution, switches the entropy gene... They, and subsequently Lashan and I, have approximately the lifespan of Agricultural Generated. There are some other effects of the substitution, but... well, forget that." Tacer dismissed the subject with a wave of his hand. "But for Etael, the project is... personal. She's not objective. As a rule that's unacceptable in a project director, and everyone knows about it in Etael's case, but she's such a good cryptographer it's been officially overlooked..." The Elite sighed. "I'll have to talk to her, anyway. Don't want to catch them in the blast. I worry a bit about whoever Grovas dragged along, but... well, I'll figure out something. No, I'll make Etael do it, she has more people."

//This keeps getting more and more complicated,// Chiana thought. "So now what?"

"I send a message back," Tacer said. "Here, set it to record -- yes, like that. Let me sit down... good. Both of you stay really quiet, I don't want to give her any more information than I have to, and she'd really start wondering if she knew I was running around here with an Interion and a Nebari."

Chiana blinked. "How would she tell?"

"Breathing, heartrates, that sort of thing... don't know how much Etael knows about that, but some people I know can identify twenty or thirty species by the sound of their vital signs. Anyway. Right. Etael, this is Tacer. I got your message. I don't want to take more than... two more standard solar days, at most. How long do you think you need? Oh, and you get to sort out whoever Grovas brought." He hit a control. "I'm sending this."

"Great," Chiana said, and repeated, "So now what?"

Tacer led the way back to the magcart and the warheads. "Now... we place these warheads. We'll go here -- to this shaft -- last, and check on the ships there. It's about time we started looking for our escape." His tone of voice was confident, but his fingers on the magcart handle were trembling.

# # # # #

Almost an entire squad of Peacekeepers was trapped lying flat on the corridor floor, unable to move in any direction for fear of triggering the autodefenses again -- a motion-tracking spray of *projectiles* that had taken out four commandos before they could all stay still enough. The Elite Hajen was trying to instruct a tech in how to disarm those autodefenses -- Venbren wasn't sure why the Elite couldn't do it herself, but when she had tried earlier the result had been a powerful electric shock and another round of the 'needle' projectiles.

The mission had *not* been going well.

Across the corridor, the Elite abruptly rose to her feet. There was no response from the autodefenses. "Done. More precautions will be necessary from now on."

Venbren angrily rose as well. "Why did that happen?"

"Unclear. Etael must have done something." The Elite's expression, as usual, revealed nothing. "I suggest you move more quickly."

Easy for the frelling Elite to say.

# # # # #

Jool shook her head. "No. I am *not* going in that."

"It's perfectly safe," Tacer assured her. "It's a little weird -- okay, I'm assuming it'll be a little weird. I haven't been here. But I have tubed down here--"

"Tubed?" Chiana asked.

"Um -- never mind. It's complicated. But the asteroid's gravity isn't very high, there's a ladder *and* our climbing gear, and even if you *did* slip and fall you wouldn't hit bottom, you'd just pass through the center of the asteroid and be slowed down by gravity then... of course I don't know how long it would take for the air resistance to *stop* you... I could calculate it... never mind." Tacer shook his head. "But it's perfectly safe. I locked out the locks at the last command post we stopped at."

They were standing in a doorway or alcove overlooking a bottomless pit. The 'docking shaft' was wide enough to hold a command carrier and long enough that Chiana couldn't see either end. Its lighting was... inadequate. "Tacer, I don't like this," Chiana said.

"Well, we do want to leave," Tacer replied in, she thought, an overly reasonable tone of voice.

"Yes, but can't we go to some other access to this... thing?" she protested. "One that won't involve lots of climbing."

Tacer shook his head. "No reason to. And I doubt there *is* one that would eliminate the climbing at this point, with the ships arranged for long-term storage. Put on your climbing harness, and I'll show you how to use it. Then we can start down." He leaned precariously over the edge, an action made even riskier by the multiple packs he was wearing. "There are definitely some good ships down there."

"There had better be," Jool said darkly.

A few hundred microts later, with climbing harness on and climbing cables in hand, they approached the drop. Tacer clipped one of his cables to the ladder beside the doorway and swung out onto the thing. "Come on, you two next..."

"I still think you're insane," Jool said, gingerly clipping her cable to another rung. "Do you even know how to fly these ships?"

"All the Maker designs are pretty standardized. I'm not an expert pilot, but I know the essentials. Besides, I'm a quick study." Tacer did not wait for them to respond to the final part of his statement. "Chiana?"

Chiana followed suit. "Now what?" she asked. "You're taking up all the room on the ladder."

"I'll move in a microt. You two will probably want to climb for a while, but I think you'll find..."

Tacer abruptly vanished from sight. Jool squeaked just as the Elite's cable, still hooked to the ladder, gave a jerk. Chiana swung out onto the ladder herself and looked down. Tacer had only dropped about five times his height, and was hanging onto the ladder again.

"...that rappelling is much faster!" he called.


	19. ** 18 **

John opened his eyes, feeling very disoriented. His last clear memory was of the Psycho Scientist of the Week and some sort of injection. There were rather a lot of less clear memories, though... for one thing, he seemed to remember a rather long discussion with Aeryn about... well, everything. //Was that real?//

Sitting up and looking around, he tried to figure out where he was. Calming Salmon... right, the lab animal storage thingy. He was sitting on one of the padded benches. Aeryn was still asleep a short distance away. She looked at peace, for a change, and he was reluctant to disturb her. John vaguely remembered that Aeryn had seemed a little... unnaturally relaxed. Drugged, no doubt, by the ever-vigilant computer, concerned for their stress levels. So -- *she'd* been under the influence of some sort of calming agent while *he'd* been on an interrogation drug spilling his guts. Great. He could only hope she didn't remember everything he'd blabbered--

"John, you have more urgent worries than what you may or may not have said to Officer Sun."

//Right on schedule,// John thought wearily. Harvey was back in the lab coat get-up. Whether or not this was better than G.I. Harvey, John couldn't say. "Yes, I know," he whispered, "we need to escape. Go away."

"At least you aren't babbling like an idiot any more," the neural clone continued. "At least, no more than usual. That was a most annoying drug."

"Since you're here," John sighed, "did I give away anything important?"

"Nothing they didn't already know. John--"

"Guess they were askin' the wrong questions. Do you see a way to open this cell from the inside?"

Harvey scowled. "No. There probably isn't one."

"Hmm." That would make sense for experimental subjects. And if for some reason the experimenters couldn't be there, they had the vaunted Bastarrex computer to watch the lab rats. //May have something there.// He just had to place it...

"John, your previous plan is a failure. Tacer is probably dead--"

Some people did not know when to shut up. "Tacer knew what he got hit with. You don't. He said not to worry. Until I have hard evidence otherwise, I'll take his word for it." John turned to look at Harvey. "And don't even *think* of suggesting I surrender to the Peacekeepers."

"At this point--"

"Okay, Harv, this is gettin' close to dumpster grounds--" John broke off as Harvey disappeared with a final sulky expression. //Good.//

As useful as Harvey could occasionally be, the clone always managed to balance it by being unbelievably obnoxious.

But this was no time to be worrying about that. They really did need to get out of here before Tacer blew the place up, the Peacekeepers found them, or Dr. Oppenheimer from Hell came back. //And I think I just might know how to do that.// "Aeryn? You all right?"

She stirred. "John?"

"Yeah... I just got an idea about gettin' out of here."

Aeryn sat up, blinking rapidly. "Not a plan?"

"Uh... not yet. How are you doing?"

"All right. You? The drug seems to have worn off..." Aeryn trailed off, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

"Um, yeah." John didn't look to see if she was avoiding looking at him. //Did that make sense?// "I'm, um, glad we had the chance to talk, though."

A brief silence.

"So am I," Aeryn said. "We... needed to. Now -- you said you had an idea?"

Now that they were over the drugs, getting out had to take precedence over any further discussions. John nodded. "You know how Tacer said to remember the gene scan? Judging from what happened with Grovas and the computer, I'm guessin' he meant to remember we're both tagged as experimental organisms." John got to his feet. "And while that might not *seem* like an advantage, I'm pretty sure that when the computer got us thrown in here it was tryin' to *protect* us from rampaging Elite. It wasn't causing any trouble earlier. And it's a *computer* -- if it's anything at all like computers I'm familiar with, it only responds to specific stimuli, and anything that's not on the list it ignores. It may have a more sophisticated list of stimuli/responses, but what we've been doing -- isn't on the list. As far as it's concerned, we poor little experimental subjects didn't do anything wrong, we just got stolen."

She understood. "We aren't fighting the computer. Yes. That makes sense." Aeryn shook her head. "But how are you planning on using this? Just asking the computer to let us out?"

"Worth a try," John said mildly.

Aeryn paused, then nodded. "All right, I suppose it can't make things any worse. Unless it drugs us again. Word carefully."

"Right." John cleared his throat. "Hey, computer? Hello? Can I talk to the computer, please?" He looked around the sea of Calming Salmon. "You see any sort of call button, Aeryn? Hey, computer!"

"The only controls in here are on the food dispenser and in the sanitary unit," Aeryn replied. "But I think it monitors these rooms automatically. Do you have any experience with computers... like this?"

"Not to speak of... Computer! Uh, thanks for takin' such good care of us while we were, um, incapacitated." Flattering a computer, what was the galaxy coming to. "If those revolting Elite -- uh, rebelling Elite -- problem Elite -- are out of the way, could you let us return to the Director? I think we're needed! Very, er, important experiments going on." No lights, no beeps, no indication of any reaction. "Aeryn, are you sure it's listening? It hasn't even told me to go back to sleep like a good little--"

The door opened.

"Yesss!" John said, and pumped a fist in the air. "C'mon, let's go. Uh, thank you, computer!"

Aeryn hadn't needed him to tell her it was time to leave; she towed him through the door before he'd finished the sentence. Out in the corridor, she looked down to the right. "Clear this way."

"And this way," John confirmed. "Any idea where to next?"

"A lift," Aeryn said immediately. "Get as far away from this level as we can."

"Right. There's one not too far away--"

There were no problems summoning the lift. Once inside, John hit the gray-slashed button farthest away from their current position -- from a maintenance level they could switch to a whole different selection of levels. One with an armory would probably be a good start. From there they could try to locate Tacer and the girls. Assuming that Tacer and Jool were still alive -- Chiana at least was almost certainly safe. Unless she'd relapsed, or run into Grovas or the Peacekeepers or one of the other groups roaming Bastarrex. Or--

//Frell, I do *not* need to be talking myself into a funk. Optimism! They are fine. I am taking Tacer's word for it.// He didn't entirely believe it, but it beat depression.

Exiting the lift onto the maintenance level, John took a quick look at Aeryn. "You okay? No aftereffects?"

"Fine. You?"

"Also fine. At least they had the courtesy to develop drugs that don't give you hangovers." John looked around the maintenance level. "What do you think we should head for, a blue level or a red one?"

Aeryn considered. "Even a command level would probably have some weapons caches. But... I think a blue level. It's less likely that all the... other people will be there."

"True." John looked around again. "Now, where the frell do we find a blue lift in here?"

# # # # #

Judging from Jool's expression, she was thinking that Tacer and Chiana were having *way* too much fun clambering around the outside of the ship they'd found. Well, let her. Chiana could use a little fun, and Tacer seemed to have finally dropped the spine thing. Plus, how were they supposed to inspect the ship without a little climbing around?

"So what kind of ship did you say this was?" Chiana asked, lowering herself down to look under the ship towards Tacer. The vessel was considerably bigger than a fighter, closer to the size of D'Argo's new pet ship, or larger yet. "Another Arrow?"

"I didn't say, because I don't know." The Elite had secured his climbing cable to the ship with some sort of magnetic grapnel and was dangling a little ways below it. "Looks kind of like an Arrow, but not quite. Probably a Maker design which we don't use anymore. But it's armed, and it looks pretty good. We've got to get inside before I can tell you much more... Jool, if your arms are getting sore hanging onto the ladder, you should come sit on top of this thing. It's stable."

"I'm fine, thanks," Jool replied.

"Your loss, Princess." Chiana hoisted herself up on top of the connection tube running from the ship to the wall of the docking shaft, presumably some sort of docking apparatus. "*Are* we going to get inside the ship anytime soon?"

"Yes." Tacer headed for the top of the ship again. "We have to... get out of... the docking shaft... first. We can go around the circumference a little ways -- use one of the other locks." He paused a microt to catch his breath. "How are you two doing? We've been working for more than a solar day now..."

Jool got in first. "We're very tired. As you *would* be if you weren't on those stimulants. And you said we probably couldn't access the ships from outside the shaft."

"So I lied. Sorry. Look, once we get the ship open you can take a nap inside if you need to. Exhausting yourselves won't help anything."

Tacer was either oblivious to the ridiculousness of his statement, considering the stimulant patches, or deliberately disregarding it. Chiana suspected the latter. She wished she knew exactly how much she should be concerned about those patches... //He's going to keep going until he drops. And then *we* are going to have to pick him up and carry him.// "And what will you been doing if and when we're sleeping? Without our director?"

"Not sure. Go looking for Peacekeepers, maybe. Or... um... frell." Tacer elbowed the release on the neighboring lock. "Okay, you win. I can't do much without our director. I'll just have to check out the ship instead." He disappeared through the lock. "Watch the gravity change..."

The change *was* a little disconcerting, but not too much. More disconcerting than the return to full gravity was the fact that the lock went to an appallingly dark-red... corridor. It was over twice the height of levels they'd been in before, and they were on a walkway about halfway up the wall. The colors made it look *very* dark.

"Oh, *this* is attractive," Jool muttered.

"It's not supposed to be pretty, Princess," Chiana reminded her. "It's supposed to be *color-coded*. So any idiot can tell this is where the ships are."

"Well, it does seem a little excessive," Tacer said, turning right and following the walkway around the slight curve of the wall. "I think a little striping would have been sufficient... Here, Jool, why don't you hit the release pad first, so the computer doesn't think I'm trying to steal the ship."

"What did the computer ever do to you?"

"Apart from declaring me an unacceptable hybrid, you mean? Just hit the release."

A few microts later they were in the ship, specifically in what was either a very short corridor or a very small room. At least it wasn't dark red. Tacer immediately turned left and started to open a door, then stopped and made Jool do it instead. The cockpit beyond struck her as uncomfortably low-ceilinged, but Tacer dumped his packs on the floor and swung in without hesitation, settling into one of the two low-slung chairs in front of the extensive control panels.

"All right, that's just the same as an Arrow, I've seen those on Spears, studied that panel, good... Yes, I think I can fly this. Jool, take the backup's seat, I'll walk you through turning off the security system."

Chiana lingered in the corridor/entrance chamber until some lights blinked blue on the controls and Tacer leaned forward to work in earnest. There were two other doors to investigate while Tacer did whatever it was he was doing to the ship's computer. //Probably eliminating any problems it has with Elite and Nebari.// The first door, directly opposite the airlock, led to a cramped room which nevertheless held toilet, washbasin, shower, and what might be a 'cleanser' for clothes and other stuff. Convenient, but not very interesting.

The door opposite the cockpit led to what had to be the main compartment of the ship. There was a stack of three bunks on one wall, and a table and bench on the other. There were also numerous storage cabinets and a tiny kitchen. The door on the far end of the cabin led to a compartment that could have been for storage, maintenance, or both. From there it was possible to access some sort of crawlspace that went *under* the main compartment, but Chiana didn't.

"Are all Ashkren ships like this?" she called forward.

"Don't know, I've never seen one this size before," Tacer replied. "It looks good?"

"It looks... a little excessive, honestly, even if everything is small. Is this thing even armed?"

"Oh, yes." Tacer sounded grimly amused by the question. "It must be a personal ship of some sort. Look, I'm still checking this out -- there are provisions in my pack. You two get some food and some sleep."

She almost argued with him. But really, no matter what Tacer was doing with stimulants, Chiana and Jool still needed the rest. Staying awake to spite him wouldn't do anything. Not anything useful, anyway.

Besides, those bunks, narrow as they were, were reminding her just how long it had been since she slept.

# # # # #

Armed once again, Aeryn and Crichton investigated what seemed to actually be a lift between levels *of different colors*. Crichton of course had made an incomprehensible remark about judging levels 'not by the color of their walls but by the content of their corridors'. The color of these particular walls was dark red. It looked not so much like a Peacekeeper ship as like someplace where there had been a lot of blood spilled. Aeryn disliked the color immediately. It was almost as bad as the black -- why had the Ashkren chosen colors which made the levels *always* appear dark?

"Ship-related!" John declared triumphantly. "I think I've mastered the color-coding."

That made sense. "So there's a connection to the blue level to move troops onto ships," Aeryn agreed. "That explains -- where are you going?"

"Wouldn't it also make sense to have a connection to the command levels, so commanders can get to the ships?" John asked.

"Maybe. I suppose it wouldn't hurt to look."

As they investigated the ship-level, Aeryn considered the question of Crichton. He was acting more-or-less normal. Just how much did he remember of their drug-induced 'talk'?

//"You *left* me."//

Of what he'd said? Of what *she'd* said?

//"It hurt. It hurts."//

Was there any possible way to get him to tell her, short of more ditenufine?

//"I feel so lost. I don't know what to do now."//

Or did she not want to know?

//"I love you..."//

No, she wanted to know what he remembered. She was just pretty sure he wouldn't want to say. No use dwelling on it now...

Aeryn wished they knew what had happened to Tacer, Chiana, and Jool. Aeryn still didn't share John's optimism about the young Elite's fate, but Grovas *had* left him still alive, dying or not -- an error. And Chiana had been there. So if Tacer had known what he'd been hit with and had a treatment for it, he might be all right.

Thanks, in part, to Grovas's carelessness. That -- *scientist* should not have been in charge of a supply run, let alone this sort of operation. Not that Etael or Captain Iber had been much better. And Tacer, no matter how skilled with weapons he might be, was a *terrible* soldier and, she suspected, secretly proud of it -- bad enough ordinarily, but for an Elite it was ridiculous. She was starting to conclude that everything about the Elite and Bastarrex was insane.

"Did you hear that?" John whispered.

She was jolted back to the present. Her mind had been wandering. Unforgivable. "What did it sound like?" she breathed back.

"A door closing. Off that way."

Aeryn listened. The door was closed and silent, of course, but she could hear... footsteps. One person. The footsteps seemed a little slow for an Elite, and almost too heavy -- certainly too heavy for it to be Chiana or Jool. That meant it was probably either a lone Peacekeeper, or...

She unholstered her pulse pistol.

"Aeryn?" John whispered.

"I think it's Furlow."

John's face was unreadable. "Ah. Guess I should've expected somethin' like this." But he drew his weapon, too, and followed her down the corridor.

They couldn't move silently, but they could move quietly -- more quietly than their quarry, anyway. So Furlow was totally surprised to find herself looking at the muzzles of two pulse pistols. The expression of mingled shock and dismay was everything Aeryn could have hoped for. But she couldn't think of anything to say.

John said it for her. "I take it you weren't expectin' to see us?"


	20. ** 19 **

Obviously, Furlow had *not* expected to see them. Her mouth opened and closed comically, but no sound came out for a few long microts. Then, "Well, I can see maybe I should have. You're never one to turn down a lead. New wormhole information, eh?"

John wondered whether he should point out that if they'd simply come to Bastarrex in search of wormhole tech -- like there was any chance his crewmates would go along with that -- then they would hardly have been wearing Elite uniforms. Or didn't Furlow know what Elite uniforms looked like? It seemed a silly oversight... "We aren't here about wormholes, Furlow," he said softly, surprised at his own tone of voice. It seemed... strange.

Aeryn spoke, and there was nothing surprising about her tone of voice -- hard and flat -- or her steady aim at Furlow's head. "But you are." John touched Aeryn's arm with his free hand, and was surprised when she actually did refrain from firing.

"Course I am," Furlow said affably, but she was worried.

"Of course," John echoed. "And did you actually find any?" //Why does it *matter*? Even if she doesn't know anything we won't let her get away alive.// Why was he drawing this out?

Furlow's expression went shifty. Shiftier. "Now, why do you ask? I thought you had them all figured out."

He supposed Furlow couldn't *know* she was driving Aeryn that much closer to a killing fury. "Is that so." It wasn't a question.

There was no *point* to this. Furlow was a menace, he *knew* that. Surely he wasn't feeling queasy? //No, comments from the neural clone peanut gallery not welcome just now...// All he had to do was step back, take his hand off Aeryn's arm, and she'd do the honors. She had more right -- and better aim -- anyway. Why was he waiting?

Furlow still didn't seem to realize the peril of her situation. "I hope you're not still trying to keep anyone else from getting the tech. I mean, you must have given up on that back on Dam-ba-Da or you wouldn't be here."

Aeryn's breath hissed through her teeth.

"Furlow," John said, still not quite believing the *mildness* of his tone, "I don't think you quite understand what's goin' on here." This... person had double-crossed practically everyone, killed the Ancient, almost given the Scarrans wormhole technology, technically killed *him*, double or not, and caused Aeryn immeasurable pain and suffering. Mildness didn't *fit*. Surely... surely he wasn't *toying* with Furlow? //I wouldn't do that... I think...// "No more second chances, Furlow. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. We're not gonna get to three times."

"No," Aeryn said, very softly. "We aren't going to."

"Sorry to hear that, flyboy," Furlow said.

//Enough beating around the bush.// Harvey tried to comment again -- John actually caught a glimpse of him dressed in a ridiculous medieval executioner's costume -- but was suppressed. "Goodbye, Furlow."

Several things happened at once. He let go of Aeryn's arm. Furlow moved far faster than she should have been able to, and threw something at them. He fired. Aeryn fired. He looked down to see what Furlow had thrown, having a very bad feeling about it, trying to get in front of Aeryn-- //Frell, I shouldn't have waited to shoot -- I'm so sorry--//

\--and then he was curled on his side, both hands shielding his face. Pain didn't seem to have caught up with him quite yet.

"John!" Aeryn yelled.

He sat up with less difficulty than he'd feared, frantically waving Aeryn away. "I'm fine, I'm good, we have to catch up with her!"

Aeryn ignored his instructions and hauled him to his feet. She looked somewhat singed from what must have been a small bomb, but the Elite uniform had taken a lot of the damage. Even as he looked her over, she was doing the same to him, and likewise finding no serious injuries. "What did you think you were--"

"C'mon, you can yell at me later!" John lurched into a run down the corridor Furlow had taken. No stealth now. The explosion, minor though it had been, had set off a klaxon, and white lights were flashing near the ceiling. He could only hope the computer wasn't going to interfere again. They couldn't lose Furlow *now*.

Even battered by the bomb, grenade, or other miscellaneous explosive, they were faster than their quarry. It wasn't hard to follow the mechanic through the dark-red corridors. And he wouldn't hesitate *this* time-- //Damn it, I think that just *was* fool me three times. *Idiot*, John!//

A few pulse blasts coming from beyond the next bend forced them to hesitate. As soon as the blasts ceased, John and Aeryn whipped around the corner in time to see Furlow, about ten meters ahead of them, trying to stop. The high-ceilinged chamber was missing a wall, and Furlow, looking back to shoot at them, hadn't seen until too late that the lack of wall overlooked a very long drop. Even as John brought up his weapon, Furlow skidded over the edge.

And fell *sideways*?

They stopped well short of the edge. After a pause, John went forward to look out over the drop. To the left, he could see Furlow falling further and further along a very wide and very long shaft. //Falling sideways. Hmm. Wait--// "We must be at the equator," he said aloud.

"What?" Aeryn joined him at the edge, looked after Furlow.

"I think I saw this level when I was looking at schematics. There's a huge docking shaft that runs along a diameter perpendicular to Bastarrex's artificial gravity -- it goes through all the levels. Out of the artificial gravity, Furlow's falling according to natural gravity, and since she's going straight down that shaft, this must be another diameter. It's parallel to the artificial gravity, so, we're at the equator."

Aeryn looked as if she neither understood nor particularly wanted to understand most of the explanation. "Where is Furlow *going*?"

"Um... good question." John looked again. "If, uh, there's nothing in the shaft and it goes all the way through, she'll keep falling along the shaft, alternating directions, until air resistance slows her down enough to stop in the center of gravity. If there is anything in the shaft... it'd depend on how fast she's going when she hits it."

They both looked down the shaft a while longer, contemplating how long a fall it was, as the alarms blared away unheeded around them. John didn't *really* want to know what would happen if there was a large obstacle in the shaft. He decided not to mention it.

Eventually, Aeryn stepped back from the edge. "You're bleeding," she said.

Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, John could feel the assortment of minor pains from the bomb. He *was* bleeding. But... "So are you," he pointed out.

Aeryn looked down, apparently surprised. "It's not serious."

"All the same, let's see if we can find a first aid kit. It'll probably be purple..."

Neither of them had serious injuries -- minor burns, heavy bruising, and a few cuts and scrapes, although annoyingly most of the cuts and singes were on the face and hands, not shielded by the flame-retardant fatigues. The medical kit was indeed purple, and included Elite band-aids and some sort of burn salve. All the really neat tricks were apparently saved for the medical levels. There were also no painkillers. Was that because the Ashkren hadn't thought their soldiers needed pain relief, or because Elite really did have a very high pain tolerance? Either seemed possible.

It had to be said. "Aeryn..."

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry. We should have shot Furlow as soon as we found her." John looked down. "Drawing things out didn't help anything, and now she's gotten away... sort of." It did seem unlikely that Furlow would ever get out of that shaft without help, but if it *did* go all the way through, a splat wasn't the only possible outcome.

Aeryn sighed. "Yes. It was a mistake. But I didn't have to go along with it." She paused. "I probably wouldn't have shot immediately if I'd been alone, either."

"We'll get her yet."

"Yes." Aeryn set the medkit aside. "I doubt she'll be able to get off Bastarrex."

"Tacer'll probably have some ideas on how to catch her. Hell, with Jool we may even be able to get the computer to kill her." He looked up at the flashing lights. "I just hope the pulse fire hasn't sent it into some sort of lockdown mode..."

# # # # #

When Chiana, yawning, made her way forward to the cockpit, Tacer had stopped fiddling with the ship and instead had schematics spread out all over the control panels and was making notes on them (the schematics, not the control panels) with a stylus. He seemed to be having a little difficulty with it. His hands were now noticeably shaking.

"Chiana," he said, without looking up. "Sleep well?"

"Fine," she replied, eyes on those tremors. "And you *should* have been sleeping, I see. Just what are you planning to do if you have to shoot, huh?"

Still without turning around, Tacer set down the stylus and held up a hand, steady. "I just have to work at it a little. I do know how to fly this ship now. And I think we'll only need to place another eight or so warheads."

"*And* get Crichton and Aeryn," Chiana reminded him.

"And find Crichton and Aeryn," Tacer agreed, "and work out what to do about Etael."

"Right, Etael." Chiana sighed. "What *are* you going to do about Etael?"

"We'll just see how helpful she's going to be. Like I said earlier, with Peacekeepers here she should understand why we have to destroy it." Tacer's tone turned faintly wistful. "It really is too bad that we have to. But we do."

Chiana frowned. "You really think she'll go along with it? Earlier she was really -- uh..."

"That was before the Peacekeepers got here. And the fact is, at this point Etael can't stop us. She's realistic. You don't keep fighting the inevitable when you can compromise with it." Tacer started collecting the schematics. "Finding Crichton and Aeryn will be more complicated, especially if Grovas still has them."

"What do you mean, if? How could they have gotten away?"

"Well, to the best of my somewhat limited knowledge of him, Grovas is a very poor diplomat, if he can be called that at all, and no computer expert. He may very well have triggered enough of the computer's danger signals to be determined a security risk. If so... well, hanging onto prisoners should be the least of his concerns." Finally turning to face her, Tacer smirked. His eyes were bloodshot. "Especially prisoners which the computer will identify as valuable genetic experiments belonging to the facility director." He straightened suddenly. "In fact... frell, I never did check that message from the computer. Stupid me. Wake up Jool, would you?"

Whatever *that* meant... Sighed, Chiana turned and headed back to the very small chamber/corridor. On a hunch, she glanced over her shoulder back into the cockpit. Tacer was indeed peeling off the old stimulant patches and applying new ones. //What are going to do about him?//

Jool had to be shaken awake. She wasn't happy to be disturbed, but was less happy yet to hear about Tacer's shaking hands and reddened eyes. "Stupid doesn't go far enough!" she hissed.

"What do you want *me* to do about it?" Chiana hissed back. "It's not like we can sneak up and knock him out. And unfortunately I really don't know what we'd do if we *did* get him to get some sleep. We need him."

"And what are we going to do when he goes into shock and passes out?"

There wasn't a good answer for that. Chiana just shook her head. "Just... take it up with him, not me. C'mon, I think he has some sort of idea about finding Crichton and Aeryn."

# # # # #

"Specialist!"

Etael briefly looked up from the latest master console, in the latest sector, at the call. One of the teams she'd sent out must be returning. "Unit Leader Igir, please see what that's about." She *almost* had it. Just a few more codes.

Igir had hardly left when he was back. "They've captured the lone intruder, Specialist."

Frell. She was going to have to deal with it. //Maybe if I tried the opening sequences of *Ashkren* genetic code -- it looks like it fits the *type* of code needed.// "Did I order the intruder apprehended?"

"No, Specialist. This happened inadvertently. While the team was examining exit vessels in the horizontal docking shaft, the intruder... fell past."

"How did that happen?" Yes! That was one more locked. The programming codes were more complicated though -- she hoped she wouldn't have to write a new one.

"Unknown, Specialist. Team Three reports that the intruder has been... demanding... to speak to our 'leader.' Would you like me to handle it?"

Maybe one of the recursive loop series... "No, I'll -- no, wait, yes, you can question the intruder. Bring her in here, though, so I can contribute if needed." That definitely looked promising. Unfortunately there were a lot of programs in the loop series. She spared a glance for the prisoner as she was brought in. No surprises there, Etael had seen the monitors.

"I'm Unit Leader Igir," Igir said. "You wanted to speak with me?"

//The classic formation seems a little unlikely, but they certainly knew about it...//

The intruder nodded confidently. "I think we can make a deal."

//...but then again -- no, definitely won't fit there. What about one of the simple additions...//

"A... deal." Igir sounded appropriately dubious. "What are you proposing to offer us?"

//Good question, Igir, now if this will just... No? Well, let's try the complex additions...//

The intruder began a lengthy story involving wormholes, wormhole tech, unique experience, marketing abilities, split profits, and rather a lot about currency.

//Better try the newer variations. It's on a two-microt cycle, anyway.// She'd heard the word currency before, but she couldn't place it. Some outsider thing. She'd never understood why otherwise perfectly rational people like Lashan would get so obsessed about *outsiders*. From what Etael had seen, there was nothing from outside admirable enough to excuse its defects.

"You claim to understand wormhole weaponry?"

//Yes, that's good, that's... yes! Another key down!// Wormhole weaponry indeed. Who did this fool of an intruder think they were? Peacekeepers? //Grovas?//

"I *built* a phase stabilizer," the intruder asserted. "You can't get much better than that."

Actually, one could get much better than that with a good theoretical grounding in the principles. This intruder might qualify as a tech -- but not a specialist. //Now for *this* segment... I wonder if I should try one of the simplified codes?//

"And you think we need this skill."

The screen transformed with images, text, and code lines, flickering by almost too fast to see. Final code accepted, transfer begun. Another section cracked. //Too many more to go.// Etael let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, and turned her full attention to the intruder, who in return continued to pay Etael no attention at all.

"Of course you need me," the intruder said. "I have the skill, you have the facilities. We can split the profits in half. You can do very well for yourself with this, ah, Captain."

"I'm not a captain," Igir said, displaying emotion -- surprise -- for the first time.

"Want to be one? With this, you could name your position."

Igir shot Etael a questioning look, obviously wondering if he should tell the intruder he had no interest in... inveigling a higher position. She gave him a slight shake of the head, turning in her chair to face the ongoing... interview. It wasn't necessary. Neither of them more than half believed anything the intruder was saying.

"So, what do you say? Partnership?"

Etael really didn't know whether the intruder was sincere in her offers. Ultimately, she didn't care. Too much else hung in the balance. "We don't have time for this," she said, and as the intruder turned towards the interruption, Etael shot her point-blank between the eyes.

The body collapsed to the floor with a *thud*. Igir bent over briefly, then confirmed, "Dead, Specialist."

Getting to her feet, Etael holstered her pulse pistol. "Good. She was starting to annoy me. Get ready to collect the data modules as soon as the transfer is complete, then have a team start moving them and the others to our exit vessel. I'm going to evaluate the remaining sectors and try to contact Tacer Rezmarev again."

Igir nodded -- like a polite Unit Leader, not saying that he could have figured out most of that himself. "And any orders about... this, Specialist?"

Etael shook her head. "Just please get it out of my sight." She walked around the body of the late intruder and left the room.


	21. ** 20 **

"Get over to the side of the room," Tacer murmured. "We're about to get a direct connection." He pushed back a little ways in his seat, ran a barely trembling hand through his hair.

Chiana thought he was suppressing his stimulant overuse symptoms rather well, but she wasn't sure if it was good *enough*. If this Etael tralk noticed, and wanted to take advantage of the weakness... //But what would she do, exactly?// "Right," she sighed. What else could she do?

They were in a command station on the horrible dark-red level, in the horrible shade of green. After going over their plans for placing the rest of the antimatter warheads and checking the location of the Peacekeepers -- who weren't making much progress, happily -- Tacer had checked the director's messages. Before he could actually look at the messages from the computer itself, they had been informed that someone was at this time trying to reach the director. Etael.

"Here..." The projector in front of Tacer came to life with the image of another Elite. "Specialist Etael. Hello."

"Tacer." Etael sounded... resigned. "We're making progress, but I need a few more solar days."

//Not much for small talk, are they?// Chiana looked over at Jool; the Interion wore an expression of distaste. Too soldier-like, maybe.

"I don't know if we *have* a few solar days," Tacer replied. "Frell, Etael, there are *piles* of people running around here already. Peacekeepers, your frelling fahrbot crechemate, random people I can't even identify--"

Etael looked... severe. "I am not responsible for the behavior of Specialist Grovas. And the solitary intruder you referred to is dead."

Tacer looked surprised. "Really? Did you do that?"

"That is completely irrelevant. Soldier--"

"That means you did." Tacer didn't seem particularly disturbed by the idea, just curious. "Soldier yourself. Did you find out anything about what it was doing, where it came from? I was wondering..."

The older Elite's face grew even more severe. "If I tell you will you return to the *subject*?"

"Well, I won't if you *don't* tell me."

"There isn't much *to* tell you. It was an outsider tech, not of any of the important political groups that I've ever heard of. It said its name was Furlow and that it was a specialist on wormholes, not that it was a specialist on *anything* by my definition-- Just who do you have in there with you, Tacer? That sounded like *another* outsider."

Chiana winced as Tacer flashed her a reproachful look. She thought she'd stifled her gasp of surprise rather well. At least Jool apparently hadn't been listening to any of Rygel's stories and so hadn't recognized the name. The Interion could never have stayed quiet.

"You *do* have someone with you. You just looked at them."

"Etael, just... don't ask, all right? You don't know who they are. Everyone would rather it stayed that way. Don't complicate things."

"*You* are asking me not to complicate things? You are--" Etael broke off, and visibly took a deep breath. "Tacer, there are times when you make me think a mistake was made somewhere and you were supposed to be a specialist. Although I'm not sure in what."

"Thank you." Tacer leaned forward. "Now, if you want to return to the subject -- I think I can give you a day. Day and a half, maybe."

"That will have to be enough, then." The 'specialist' still looked less than happy with the situation, but she didn't keep pushing. "Now, what was it you said about Grovas's team?"

Tacer relaxed almost imperceptibly. "I said you get to figure out what to do about them, whether to take them with you, or... whatever. None of them would ever listen to me, but they might listen to you. I don't just want to blow all of them up. It's not their fault they're assigned to a... a... a crazed weapons specialist. I think that's most of it..."

"Yes." It was Etael's turn to glance at something, or someone, else in whatever room she was in. "Tacer, I want your promise you won't detonate until we've confirmed we're out of the blast radius."

"As long as you promise not to deliberately hang around inside the blast radius just to delay me."

"'Hang around'?"

"Never mind. Just please don't try to delay." Tacer moved has hands down to his sides, well out of the image pickup range. Chiana stiffened -- the shaking was getting perceptibly worse.

Etael nodded. "I won't. Day and a half. Thirty-seven arns?"

"Thirty-seven." Tacer ended the transmission quickly, and then started trembling violently -- his entire body, not just his hands. "Frell, frell, frell..."

Chiana and Jool both erupted from their enforced idleness. "You said you could control it!" Chiana hissed.

"I can, I can, this is just... an attack... frell!" Tacer wrapped his arms around his ribcage, taking deep breaths, eyes closed. "It'll pass, just give it a microt--"

Visible blood vessels -- yes. Flushed skin -- yes. Tremors -- oh yes. Chiana gave Jool an anxious look. They'd hit the early symptoms of stimulant overuse problems, and they were getting worse. What was going to happen next?

"I hope you're not still going to try to claim you're in no danger." Jool bent over Tacer and peeled open one of his eyes. "See? I thought so. Ruptures."

"Could you let go of my eyelid, please?"

Chiana joined Jool. There was just a trickle of blood collected at the corner of Tacer's eye. "Ewww. What's that, the next step up from the redness?"

"Yes, and it's not dangerous," Tacer said, pulling back, causing Jool to release him. The tremors had eased. "I can spare a little blood. *Both* of you, stop acting like Zhiv. Or a creche guardian. I'm fine."

Jool shook her head. "You are not fine. You are getting worse, and faster than you predicted. It could be because of that -- thing you were shot with--"

"Neuropathogen, and I got the antigen in time."

"In time to keep it from killing you, not in time to keep it from exhausting you more than you already were," Jool snapped back. "And consequently these frelling stimulant patches are causing more damage than they normally would. Where do I take your pulse?"

Tacer tried to get up. "You don't."

Chiana pushed him back into the chair. "Just get the medkit, Princess."

Jool grimly returned with some sort of handheld scanner, which she pointed at Tacer, who just glowered at both of them. A few microts passed before the Interion spoke. "While I admittedly don't know what the normal pulse rate for an Elite is, I doubt it's supposed to be uneven. You need to take those patches off *now*, Tacer."

"He probably knows what normal is," Chiana said, taking the device and handing it to Tacer. "That's too high, isn't it."

Tacer pushed the device away. "Yes, I do know, yes, it's too high, and I knew that already. It's my frelling heart, you know." He crossed his arms. "And I realize it isn't a good sign, but I *can't* take the patches off now. At this point, as soon as I do I'll crash, probably for days."

Jool crossed *her* arms. "You'll be crashing anyway soon, when your system fails, and the longer you put it off the worse it will be."

"Yes, but -- I think I can last for about two solar days, maybe a little less--"

"Meaning," Chiana interrupted, "you'd be crashing just when you're supposed to be flying us out of here. I agree with Jool. Patches off *now*."

"No, I *can't*. There's still too much to do!" Tacer protested. "Warheads to place, detonators to program now that we know the deadline -- find Crichton and Aeryn -- stop that!" He was definitely slipping -- Chiana got the first patch off before he could stop her. "I'm trying to tell you -- frell--" Tacer yawned. He hadn't been kidding about immediately crashing.

Chiana sighed as she pulled off the second patch. "Place warheads, program detonators to go off thirty-seven arns from now, get Crichton and Aeryn. Princess and I can take care of it. We can't take care of flying the ship."

"Can't believe this," Tacer mumbled, and his eyes closed.

Jool examined the scanning device again. "Good! His heartbeat is steadying already."

Eying the unconscious Elite slumped in a chair between them, Chiana nodded. "I think we made a mistake, though."

"He was failing rapidly. If you really think we can do it by ourselves--"

"Oh, I know that," Chiana assured her. "We can manage. But we should have gotten him back to the ship *before* we took off the patches."

# # # # #

//One level, two level, red level, blue level... black level, gray level, green level, purple level, ugly ship-related level...// John sighed. Thanks to the lovely color-coding, he knew what all the levels were for, but damned if he could tell one purple level from another. "All right. I'll admit it. I'm lost."

"That's not a change," Aeryn pointed out. "We haven't known where we were since that... tech..."

She was probably talking about Oppenheimer from Hell. "Specialist, I think they say..."

"Whatever. Since we were captured." Aeryn looked at the lift control panel for a moment -- they were in another maintenance lift, the most efficient way to travel -- then hit a gray/red key.

"You gotta point..." John conceded. For that matter, he hadn't been doing the navigating earlier, either. He was really starting to *worry* about being lost, though. "Thing is, I'm startin' to think we're runnin' out of time. We have to find Tacer and the girls before this place starts blowing up around us."

Aeryn was silent for a few microts. "And how long do you think we have?"

"Don't know. Tacer's a good kid, I think he'd try hard to find us -- and he'll break the rules if he has to -- but when it comes down to it, destroyin' the solarmanite is his first priority. Not that it shouldn't be..." John trailed off.

"Is that some sort of weapons technology?" Aeryn asked.

"What?"

She looked faintly impatient. "You just said it. Solarmanite."

"Uh -- ah -- no. No, it's not. Not something we'll find here, anyway." There were some things John would hesitate about trying to explain even to someone else from Earth, much less to anyone out here. //And if I did try, I'd just convince her that I've finally gone completely over the edge.// Best to change the subject. "So, you have some sort of plan?"

Aeryn shrugged. "We found a store of antimatter explosives on a red level above the equator. The others are probably still collecting them there. If we're lucky we'll run into them."

Well, it was a lot more likely than running into them wandering randomly about Bastarrex, anyway... "Gotcha."

The red levels seemed endless, and John was almost surprised that they *didn't* find solarmanite on one of them. They seemed to be finding some of practically everything else as they walked through endless corridors. At least all the weapons made him feel less like a barbarian in Rome. Sure, there was valuable, useful knowledge here that they'd be destroying... but that knowledge wouldn't do anyone any good if the universe was destroyed by people popping off black holes like hand grenades.

//And what was the effect on the neighbors, when people who *could* have used black holes like hand grenades suddenly weren't in the picture anymore?// He wondered just how long ago the Elite revolt had been...

The sudden wail of a klaxon nearly made him jump out of his skin. "Frell! Did we set that off?"

"I don't see how, we weren't touching anything--" Aeryn turned in place, pulse rifle at the ready. "That's different from the one we heard with Furlow..."

The sound *was* different, and red flashing lights joined the white ones. Before John had a chance to wonder what the differences signified, the computer answered his question. "Warning. Intruders. Warning. Forced entry in surface landing bay one-zero-two-seven. Warning. Intruders. Warning. Recommend evacuation of noncombat personnel from adjacent levels. Warning..."

# # # # #

"Where the frell is landing bay one-zero-whatever?!" Chiana yelled, slightly louder than was necessary to be heard over the wailing klaxons. In the flashing white alarm lights, the auxiliary command station looked unfamiliar, though it was practically identical to all the others they'd been through.

"Don't yell at me, I'm looking!" Jool shrieked back. "Don't distract me! Why don't you do something useful, like waking up Tacer?"

"Princess, you're the doctor, do you really think I'd be *able* to wake him up? He's as bad as a hibernating xieso!" The Elite hadn't stirred even when they'd accidentally dropped him on the way back to the ship. He hadn't been kidding about crashing. Chiana doubted even reapplying the stimulant patches would wake him now.

"...bay one-zero-two-seven. Warning. Intruders. Warning..."

"And I wish that frelling computer would shut up!" Jool snapped. "Dren, this place must be crawling with intruders by now, and it hasn't gone off like this before!"

"You heard the thing, forced entry," Chiana reminded her. "Everyone else seems to have just flown on in. Now will you *hurry up* and find the frelling landing bay so we know if we noncombat personnel should be evacuating the area?!"

"*Stupid*! This computer is *stupid*!" Jool actually kicked the wall. "It's activating all sorts of internal defense systems and at the *same time* warning me they may not be adequate and suggesting I send in troops! What is this, a whole frelling Peacekeeper fleet?! It just keeps saying Code Four, Type Red! I don't know what that means!"

"Forget *what* it is, find out *where* it is!" The frelling computer was making *both* of them panic. //Doesn't help that we're down to less than thirty-five arns and we already set some of the detonators...//

"...levels. Warning. Intruders. Warning..."

"Ah... it's... frell! It keeps overriding me to complain about the intruders!" Jool worked furiously at the keys, then visibly relaxed. "It's... ah... all right. It's not near here, we're not an 'adjacent level' or I think there'd be red lights, too."

Chiana relaxed. "Good. Not our problem. They can just get blown up with everything else in thirty-five arns anyway."

"*They* may not be our problem, but the computer's reaction might be," Jool replied. *Definitely* calmer. "I don't know... I guess between the Peacekeepers and that strange specialist and now this, whatever it is, the computer's on high alert. These internal defense systems... Yes, and it's sealing off sections."

"...ning. Intruders. Warning. Forced entry..."

"I don't get it -- can you turn that off in here?"

"Not without more trouble than it's worth."

"All right, fine. But I don't get it -- you're the director, can't you just *un*seal the sections?"

Jool looked worried. "I have the authority, but I don't have the codes. I don't think waving my hand and saying 'open sissy' is going to do it."

"It's 'open *sessmee*'," Chiana corrected. "Why is Tacer better at Human expressions than you are?"

"Whatever! Sissy, sessmee, it won't work. And some of the sealed-off areas are where we wanted to plant more of the warheads. *Nat*urally."

//Surely we've already planted *enough* bombs?// It was *so* tempting to just withdraw back to the relative safety of the little ship and wait for Tacer to wake up... //Crichton. Aeryn.// She couldn't just leave them. //Plus, if Tacer *doesn't* wake up in time, one of them might have a chance of flying us out of here.// Chiana took a deep breath. "All right. Let's get the warheads planted wherever we can, and figure out some way to find Crichton and Aeryn. We can use the computer..."

Jool nodded. "I just wish Tacer hadn't been so frelling clever and made us all invisible to scans -- I don't know if I can undo whatever it is that he did."

Right. That would make things difficult. "Well, he didn't make these new intruders invisible to scans. Can't you at least get a look at them?"

"I'm *trying*." Jool tossed her hair. "I told you, the computer keeps interrupting me with... proclamations of imminent disaster! If it thinks the Elite are in rebellion, why is it advising me to send squads of them down to meet the intruders?"

"You said it yourself, it's stupid." Chiana looked over Jool's shoulder. She couldn't read any of the Elite -- Ashkren -- whatever -- words, but she could see the way blocks of flashing text kept appearing with no prompting from the Interion. "What's that one say?"

"Code Four, Type Red, again! As if I had any idea what that meant!"

"What are you doing now?"

"Trying to access the visual pickups near surface landing bay one-zero-two-seven. And stop looking over my shoulder!" Jool quickly got rid of another flashing warning. "Wait, I think it may actually be--" She broke off as the screen did indeed finally display the intruders.

"Frell," Chiana breathed. "Oh, *frell*!"


	22. ** 21 **

~T minus 34 arns~

Aeryn tried the controls again, but the lift definitely wasn't responding. "Frell! John, this one isn't working either!"

He ran along the corridor to join her. "Neither are half the doors I tried. What *is* this?"

"It has to be some sort of security lockdown," Aeryn replied grimly. "Which means these intruders, whatever they are, are close."

"Damn! Just our luck," John said. "Now what, may I ask, is the point of tellin' noncombat personnel to evacuate if you seal them in before they get the chance to?"

"Evacuate other levels, maybe. The system might have counted this one as lost already." There had to be *some* way out of here. They'd heard only one reference to what the intruders were, and that in some sort of Ashkren code. "Do you have any idea what the computer is talking about? You said you'd figured out the color-codes."

John snorted. "Well, I doubt they mean we're bein' invaded by munitions. Only other red I can think of is red needles..." He stopped suddenly, and paled. "Tacer said red needles are for Scarrans. You don't think..."

"I think I don't want to take the risk." Aeryn looked around. //Access shaft, there has to be some way to get into an access shaft...// The first hatch she tried was sealed. So were the next five. At that point she was distracted by a muffled curse, and turned to see John struggling with a needle gun. "What are you doing?"

"I found a ribbon of red needles in my pocket. Must've stuck 'em there earlier. But now I can't get this frelling thing open to change the ammo..."

She almost snatched the needler away from him to do it herself, but recalled just in time that he *did* actually have more experience with Elite tech than she did, and so she might not have any more success than he was having. Which would make snatching it just counterproductive. Instead, she asked, "Should I try it?"

"No, think I can get it--" He broke off abruptly as she held up a hand.

Yes, she definitely heard something past the racket of the alarms. It might well be Scarrans. "Something's coming," she whispered. "Are any of these doors working?"

"Some of 'em--"

The third door they tried led into a small white-trimmed room containing lots of what appeared to be rocks. Crichton might have had a better idea of why there was a room full of rocks, but there wasn't time to ask. No way to monitor what was happening in the corridor; Aeryn began searching the room for any other way out. No other doors, but there *had* to at least be environmental ducts...

John had gotten the needler open and was pulling out the ribbon of blue needles. "Any luck?"

//There!// "Environmentals duct. Could be big enough to crawl through." Aeryn gave the cover another tug. "Won't open." And pulse fire would only attract attention... "Hand me one of those rocks."

"Mineral samples, Aeryn -- think this one's a big honkin' diamond, give it a shot."

She caught the rock in question, a crystal about as big as her hand, and started in on the duct cover. Aeryn hoped it was stronger than it looked.

Fifteen or so microts later John tapped her shoulder. "Let me do that. You take the gun."

Nodding, Aeryn handed him the rock and accepted the needler, which *looked* like it had been correctly reloaded, judging from what little she'd seen of them. Which wasn't a lot. Such a small weapon... "Do you have any idea *how* this thing is supposed to stop Scarrans?"

"Tacer didn't say. You know how the needlers work in general?"

"I can guess." Aeryn wondered if she should fire the thing a few times to make sure it worked, but that wouldn't be much better than pulse fire. "Cover coming off?"

"Slowly but surely!" A *crunch* punctuated John's words. "And I *think* we'll be able to squeeze through this thing and get into the bigger ducts for the whole level. But frell, I hope we're freakin' about nothing. Tangling with Scarrans does not make my top ten list of Fun Ways to Spend an Afternoon -- in fact it's even lower than crawling through atmospheric ducts, which by the way I've been doin' *much* too much of lately..."

John had just wrenched the cover completely off when the door opened and a Scarran loomed into the room. Aeryn didn't let herself stop to think, but fired off several shots from the needler.

The Scarran's torso exploded.

//Well, that certainly took it out of action...// Aeryn thought fleetingly, and she sent off some more shots at the ceiling above the door. As she'd hoped, the explosions brought a shower of debris crashing down to fill the doorway, delaying pursuit for a few more microts at least. "Go!" she snapped to John.

The duct was barely wide enough for John, which at least meant it was too small for a Scarran. Aeryn fired off a last few rounds at nothing in particular before diving through.

# # # # #

~T minus 33 arns~

"...Intruders. Warning. Forced entry in surface..."

Etael refrained from yelling for someone to turn off that annoying repeating warning. She'd already tried herself and concluded it wasn't worth the effort. It was maddening -- she could barely believe what she was hearing. Well, more accurately, she *could* believe it, she just didn't want to. Didn't the Peacekeepers provide enough problems without adding Scarrans? *Frell* Hajen. There was a *reason* they'd sealed the border to keep the information in, but did Hajen take that into account? Of course not.

She yanked out a data module with more force than was strictly required. "Igir, are the units on their way?"

"Yes, Specialist. We're preparing to contact Grovas's group now. Are you sure you don't want to go to the exit vessel now, too?"

"Yes. We still have thirty-three arns and the Scarrans are nowhere near the sectors I want to go to next." Etael put the filled data module in a carrying case with the others from the sector and handed it to one of the junior specialists. "But we want to be ready to evacuate when we have to." She pictured the schematics. "Come on. Next station is three levels down."

# # # # #

~T minus 33 arns~

"Scarrans! What are *Scarrans* doing here?" Venbren demanded. "You have *no idea* how much this complicated things!"

"They're here for the same reason you are. They want Maker tech." Hajen looked frustratingly unintimidated, although at least the computer's sudden announcement had seemed to rattle her. Not that that did much good. "Now, do you want to keep looking for tech, or do we go back to the docking bay and leave?"

Venbren thought of facing Scarrans with this small force in hostile, unfamiliar, unpredictable territory. Then he thought of returning to Scorpius with nothing to show for the trip.

Scarrans suddenly seemed a lot less daunting.

"We keep looking," he ordered.

# # # # #

~T minus 32 arns~

"Well," John muttered, leaning against a blue bulkhead, "I would say that definitely qualified as messy and lethal."

"What?" Aeryn asked.

He blinked; he hadn't expected her to be able to hear him over the continuing racket of the alarms. "Oh, uh, that was how Tacer described the red needles, back when we first got here. Messy, lethal, good on Scarrans." He stretched; the atmosphere ducts -- environmental shafts -- whatever -- had been considerably bigger than the ones on the ~Repulsive Upholstery~, but still not easy to crawl through. He just hoped the cramped quarters would keep the Scarrans from following. //But given our luck...// "Do you think the needle actually penetrates or just sticks to the surface before it explodes?"

Aeryn shrugged. "It hardly matters, does it? I think for now our priorities should be just avoiding the Scarrans... and Peacekeepers, and Elite, and anyone else who's arrived... and rendezvousing with the others."

"Point. I just wish I knew how to find the others." John looked up at the flashing white alarm lights -- for some reason there were no red ones this level -- and listened to the unchanged warning. "Somehow I don't think the computer will be very cooperative now." He paused, thinking. "I'm pretty sure Tacer was plannin' to get a ship in the main docking shaft, the one perpendicular to the artificial gravity."

"Yes..." Aeryn nodded. "Are you thinking we should look there?"

John bit his lip. "Uh, fair warning. The following is a John Robert Crichton, Jr. Insane Plan, patent pending." He paused briefly to appreciate Aeryn's quelling look before continuing. "It'd be a lot less complicated than navigatin' all these levels to just go straight down the docking shaft and look for a ship that someone's been messin' with."

There was a silence, apart from the klaxons and the continuing, "Warning. Intruders. Warning. Forced entry in surface landing bay one-zero-two-seven. Warning," et cetera ad nauseum.

Finally, Aeryn spoke. "Yes, that is definitely one of your plans. But we may have to try it anyway. I don't have one." She looked around. "Look, as long as we're here, I think we should pick up some more ammunition."

"Probably a good idea. You know where to go to do that?"

They meandered through the blue level before finding small-arms ammunition storage. They picked up several more needlers and lots of red needles in addition to chakan oil. With the Insane Plan in mind, John also made sure to grab some climbing harnesses with extra grapnels and lots and lots of extra cable.

Just as they walked out of ammunition storage, half the alarm-lights turned red.

//All right, so the Scarrans are catching up with us. No big deal. We can handle this. No big deal... ah, who am I kidding.//

Thanks to Aeryn's quick reactions, they made it into a lift before it sealed -- but not before their pursuit spotted them.

# # #

~T minus 31 arns~

//All right, I'm getting really sick of this.//

John had lost track of time -- //And why hasn't anyone in the UT invented the frelling wristwatch, huh? Maybe I should do it, make a fortune, save for retirement.// -- but he was pretty sure they had been keeping about half a level ahead of four or five Scarrans for about an eternity. That was better than getting caught by four or five Scarrans, but it wasn't good. At this rate, they were still going to be running in circles when Bastarrex blew.

"You have any idea how the *frell* they're tracking us?" he gasped, trying to keep up with Aeryn. Their latest strategy was simply to try to move really fast. It was working insofar that they hadn't yet been caught.

"None." Aeryn turned a corner, caught his arm and steadied him when he would have skidded straight on ahead. "We need to try something different, Crichton."

"You're telling me!"

She ignored the comment, and they swerved into a lift just as the alarm lights turned red. "We need to get them off our trail. Set a trap."

Aeryn explained the plan she was starting to develop -- it sounded like an Aeryn Sun Insane Plan, patent pending, though he didn't tell her that. Instead, he listened, and nodded.

"We need to get to a white level."

# # # # #

~T minus 31 arns~

"Etael is saying *what*?" Grovas yelled.

"Specialist Director Etael is suggesting we leave, Specialist." The Unit Leader paused before continuing. "And since the computer thinks we're in revolt and there are Scarrans on board... I think it might be a good idea to go along with it."

# # # # #

~T minus 30 arns~

The alarm klaxons were giving Chiana a serious headache. For *once* Jool wasn't complaining, but there were fine lines of pain on the Interion's face as she worked the door's control panel -- one-handed, since her other hand was needed for the DNA-sampler. They were having to use the 'director's override' at what felt like every other door or hatch they took, and according to Jool the computer was still interrupting with news about the Scarran intruders. Chiana certainly didn't object to knowing where the Scarrans were, but the constant messages were *doubling* the time it took to override the locks. Since the Scarrans arrived, they'd only managed to set up two more warheads. They were just lucky Tacer had preprogrammed a way to set the detonators remotely, or they wouldn't have had a hope of finishing.

The door unsealed. With a sigh of relief, Chiana shoved through the magcart bearing the antimatter explosives. "Which way, Princess?"

"Right," Jool replied. "Then... I think... any of these doors along here should work." She gestured vaguely around. "Just put it somewhere and set the timer, and we can try to keep going... how many more do we have?"

//Too many.// Chiana forced the magcart into a hard right. "Enough that we need to do some prioritizing -- I don't think we're *going* to get all of them, so you need to figure out where to put fewer bombs to do the most damage."

Jool mumbled something about the technical difference between bombs and warheads, but didn't argue. "Before he changed his mind about strategy, Tacer was talking about chain reactions..."

"That sounds good," Chiana decided. "Yeah, we'll try that. Open one of these doors, would you, Princess?"

For a miracle, the door opened without much of a fight, and Chiana rolled the warhead off the magcart and into the room. Jool quickly set it to go off at the prearranged time. They still had a lot of time left, but...

//I don't like this,// Chiana thought. //I don't like this at all.//

# # # # #

~T minus 29 arns~

John would have thought that the white of the cold storage level would be a refreshing change from the blue, red, black and --worst of all -- purple levels they'd been running through. Instead, it just seemed cold, sterile, dead, and faintly ominous. //Then again, maybe being chased by Scarrans just makes you look at everything in a different light.// All the same, he wondered if the oh-so-civilized Ashkren had shelled out for therapy for people driven to despair by the decor... //Have to ask Jool. Or else get out more.//

The first *ten* cold storage rooms they checked were all both empty and slightly singed. //What is this? They didn't move everything out on any of the other levels...// John made a face. "Y'know, it even *smells* like something burned in here recently." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Aeryn wince. "What? What's wrong?"

She shook her head, but answered anyway. "When I went through white levels earlier, they... weren't empty. It was -- it's not important."

Weren't empty? That wasn't enough to spook Aeryn-- John stopped, remembering his own arrival on Bastarrex, and an overheard conversation in the docking bay. //"The progenitors and precursors who were here during the revolt, and didn't get away..." Frell.// Cold storage had probably been full of *bodies* until Etael's people incinerated them.

Aeryn tugged at his arm, and he realized he'd stopped moving. "Come on," she said. "No time to waste."

"Right..." John tried to clear his head of the images that had popped into it. "We're, um, probably going to be looking for some kind of canisters, here. At least I hope so." He also hoped he was correctly remembering what the Ashkren text for 'volatile' looked like from his tour through the labs with Tacer.

He hoped this plan worked at all.

It was John who finally found what they were looking for, in one of the rooms that *wasn't* mostly empty. //Guess they didn't use *quite* all of their cold storage as a morgue.// Just most of it. But then, considering that they'd been pretty much murdering all their underlings in the entire facility -- maybe they'd had so many bodies they'd *had* to expand the morgues. Not that that thought was any pleasanter...

John quickly returned his attention to the canisters and called Aeryn over. She came running, obviously on edge -- the lights hadn't gone red yet, but both of them knew they were working with a deadline. "You found it?" she asked.

"Think so." John indicated the shelves full of canisters. "I think we want these -- that means volatile, I think, and the canisters are red, and I *think* that indicates what sets it off..."

Aeryn nodded. "Is that a number?"

"Uhhhmmm... could be, but I can't read it." John shrugged ruefully. "And of course I wouldn't recognize the units even if I did."

"I might, but I don't know any of these symbols at all." Aeryn grimaced. "Is there enough?"

John looked over the canisters. "There'll have to be... we might want to try it in an enclosed space, though."

"And how do you plan to--" Aeryn broke off, wearing an expression of dawning horror. "No. No. You are *not* going to play bait. I won't let you!"

"Aeryn, we've got to get them into a room, and I don't think askin' them nicely's gonna cut it. Maybe we can find one with another exit, or something, but I have to lure them into the room." John looked around. "Not here, though." There were so many volatile chemicals here they'd probably become a smoking crater... was that possible in a space station?

And then -- poof! -- Harvey was there, this time wearing a frelling *firefighter* costume. "John, I advise against this in the strongest possible--"

//Shut up, Harv. I don't have time for this.// John determinedly ignored the clone and directed his plea to Aeryn. "I need to do this," he said. "It's the only way."

"Frelling hero--" Aeryn began, then stopped. When she spoke again, she sounded just as determined -- and stubborn -- as John. "Fine. You'll be in the room as bait. I'll be in there with you."


	23. ** 22 **

~T minus 28 arns~

They were still arguing about it when the alarm lights went red, and there was no more time. John swore, hearing Aeryn echo him a moment later. John grabbed a bulky canister in each arm. //Move to another room -- frell it -- there's no *time*--// "Frell!" he snarled aloud. "I think we're gonna have to do it in here."

"Let's do it, then," Aeryn replied, and promptly broke the seal on one of the canisters. John winced. Even when he'd come up with the room idea, he'd planned on keeping away from the open canisters.

Well, if they had the right stuff, it was nontoxic. If they didn't... it was too late already. John popped the seal on one of his own canisters and rolled it across the room to near the door. The vapor wasn't quite odorless, not quite invisible, but in the chaos it hopefully wouldn't be noticed. John continued quickly through the row of canisters, stopping himself just *after* he opened a canister of something else. //Hell!// It had a label -- how badly had he frelled up this time? //I think that's an atomic symbol -- one, two, four, eight...// Oxygen. He relaxed. A little. John tossed the hissing oxygen canister across the room, too, and for the sake of verisimilitude, began knocking all the other containers off the shelves.

Flicker. "John, I must urge you in the strongest possible terms not to do this! Starting explosive reactions in a--"

What was he wearing *now*? It almost looked like-- //Oh, lord, it's Smoky the Neural Clone.// "I do *not* have time for this!" John muttered. He forcefully dismissed Harvey and went back to flinging canisters.

A few shelves away, Aeryn looked nervous. "Where the frell are they?" she muttered. She took a deep breath, probably to try to calm herself -- and sneezed.

The vapor. It was nontoxic, but they'd both obviously inhaled quite a bit, and he had no idea if it chain-reacted. "Uh, Aeryn? When the Scarrans come in, you might want to hold your breath and pinch your nose."

She gave him an incredulous look. "You want me to *what*?"

Before John could explain why, the door burst open. *Five* Scarrans came in. And though they all walked in amidst the vapor with no sign of noticing anything out of the ordinary, nothing immediately happened, either -- aside from one of them booming out "Drop your weapons!"

Time for delaying tactics.

John raised his pulse pistol to his head. "Don't come any closer, or my million-dollar brain will be splattered all over the walls!"

The Scarrans stopped.

//Good old holding-yourself-hostage routine... works every time.// At least, every time with people after his brain. //Get in line, take a number... any time now...// Stall, he had to stall. "Um... uh... bear with me a moment, forgot my cue card..."

There was a low growl. Obviously, and unsurprisingly, the Scarrans were losing patience, but before they moved, the one in the lead faltered, then abruptly doubled over. It made a noise somewhere between a cough and a gurgle. John dropped his pulse pistol and clapped both hands over his nose and mouth just as all hell broke loose.

The plan was, he suspected, at least partially inspired by his little stunt with the cooling rods in the Shadow Depository, not that Aeryn had said that. Problem: they needed something that would get rid of the Scarrans without hurting *them*. Solution: release a gas that reacted with heat. //And by 'react,' I mean 'explode.' There's a connection, all right.// Not that he'd mention the Shadow Depository if she didn't. Frell, but they had problems. //Give the man a kewpie doll...// The theory was, the Scarrans would inhale the vapor, its temperature would rise, and the Scarrans would explode.

It worked.

Okay, so they didn't explode like grenades or torpedoes or -- ha! -- red needles, but all the gas in their lungs exploding had a pretty similar effect on the future prospects. The pursuing Scarrans rapidly became *dead* Scarrans. Very dead. Plan a success. Whoohoo.

Just a few drawbacks. First, he couldn't really bring himself to rejoice at the sight of someone's lungs exploding -- *not* pretty -- and second, the whole room was going up.

He had time to throw himself in front of Aeryn before everything went white.

# # # # #

~T minus 27 arns~

Her plan worked, but Crichton evidently realized the rest of the gas in the room was going up a split microt before she did -- long enough, frell him, to jump in front of her. Aeryn herself only had time to think, //If he gets hurt, I'm going to kill him--// before the explosion slammed her backwards, trapped between a wall and a Human. As if that weren't enough, once of the canister racks fell on them.

Aeryn felt the wave of heat -- far too intense, but also very brief, less than a microt -- not long enough to induce heat delirium. Something that brief surely couldn't do any damage, especially not when she was insulated by flame-retardant Elite combat fatigues, rather a lot of debris, and -- frell it! -- Crichton.

She sat up, ignoring several stabs of pain, and rolled Crichton off her onto the floor. He was unconscious, his face burned, bleeding in several places, but -- he was alive. //Good. He's alive. Now I can kill him.// She breathed. Then she coughed.

Aeryn finally spared a glance for the rest of the room. Most of the fire of the explosion -- explosions -- had immediately burned out. The exceptions were some lumps which had probably been the Scarrans and, far more ominously, blue tongues of flame hovering above ruptured canisters. She was no tech, but she *knew* that wasn't good. //We need to get out of here.// She reached for Crichton, then hesitated -- she was no medic, either, but she knew moving someone with concussive force injuries sometimes made things worse. Another glance at the canisters, however, a whiff of the increasingly strange-smelling air, and a sudden violent coughing fit -- which made her ribs hurt -- convinced her she had to take the risk. Grimly, she fought the coughs and the pain from her ribs and wrestled John's limp body into an over-the-shoulder carry. Kicking her pack ahead of her, she made for the corridor.

Outside, she stumbled down the corridor out of the worst of the fumes, than lowered Crichton to the floor. His facial burns didn't look serious, at least; probably no worse than -- what did he call it? --sunburn. She examined the rapidly forming bump on his forehead, probably what had knocked him out. The skin had split and it was bleeding profusely, but she couldn't feel a skull fracture, so hopefully that would be all right. His fatigues were intact, except for-- //Frell.// There was one place where something, presumably debris, had burned through; she could see through to the ugly corresponding burn on John's shoulder. And even the non-flaming debris had to have given him some deep bruises.

Still, barring internal injuries, it wasn't life-threatening. He'd be all right -- assuming they got off the frelling station without any more catastrophes... //How likely is that?// They'd been stumbling from one problem right into another for days. And they were in the middle of a legendary facility filled with incomprehensible technology which their *friends* were probably rigging to explode as they stumbled. Bastarrex was just bad luck. Around them, the white lights were still flashing, but the red had stopped. Good -- they'd gotten all the Scarrans on the level. It was about time *something* went right.

No sooner had she completed the thought then half the alarm lights went *yellow*. What the frell did *yellow* lights mean?

Another computer voice cut over the *still*-repeating intruders warning. "Warning. Integrity of power grid compromised. Warning. Current relay feedback rates will trigger a local meltdown in one hundred and four microts. Warning. Integrity of power grid..."

//Local meltdown?// That didn't sound very good. In fact, it sounded as if she should be anticipating more explosions. "Frell."

"Now would be a good time for you to wake up, John..." she muttered. With the unknown damage to her ribs, she wasn't sure how far she could carry the Human -- but if only a hundred microts remained before whatever it was happened, she'd better start trying.

They needed to move quickly. Amazingly, the first lift she tried opened -- well, maybe not so amazing, since they'd neutralized the Scarrans, but definitely a good thing. Aeryn got herself, John, and her pack into the lift and hit the control for what she hoped was the highest level available.

As the doors closed and the lift started to rise, she realized that she should also be hoping the lifts had self-contained power supplies...

# # # # #

~time indeterminate~

He knew he had to be asleep, or unconscious, because the image of Harvey in a toga, playing a violin, had to be too much for even his waking mind. As for the laurel wreath... well.

Harvey wasn't even very good at the violin.

John looked around the mindscape. Sure enough, it was a surreal version of classical Rome. On fire. A quick check revealed that he was wearing normal clothes, thank god. John sighed with relief, and sat down on a broken column that looked more like it was a modern ruin. Not that the rest of the scene looked very solid at all... //Should've paid more attention in World History.// "There any point to this, Nero, or are you just experimentin'? And will you put that thing away before you frighten the sheep?"

"It merely seemed appropriate given your current surroundings, John." Harvey lowered the violin and took a bow. "This great source of history and knowledge..."

"If you're *still* tryin' to keep us from blowin' the place, it's a little late," John advised. "It's out of my hands." He *did* feel a little bad about it. But-- //If you're not smart enough to figure it out yourself, you're not smart enough to use it wisely.// And they *weren't* smart enough. He *knew* that. //Not for black holes. I don't think anyone's smart enough for that...//

# # # # #

~T minus 27 arns~

Etael felt the rumbling vibration in the floor a moment before the new set of alarms went off, increasing the noise in the confined space of the level command center to near-unbearable levels and *almost* overriding her careful decryption work. "*Now* what?" she demanded of no one in particular. "No, don't tell me! Nebari!"

Igir was off trying to deal with Grovas and his team, but one of the assisting techs had moved immediately to a situation console and was checking -- good initiative. "No, Specialist, there seems to have been an explosion."

"What?!" Etael made sure her program was working and moved over to the other console. //If Tacer's starting early... well, he'd better not be.//

"One of the cold storage levels, Specialist. Something exploded in -- um -- it looks like it was in volatile chemical storage--"

Etael nodded. Not Tacer, then. He'd be using larger explosives. Scarrans, or Peacekeepers -- she wouldn't put it past Hajen to detonate something in volatile chemical storage. "So *all* the volatile chemicals reacted."

"Yes, and it was near a power relay. If someone had been there, or been paying attention, the power could have been cut, but it wasn't, and the feedback--"

"End result?" She was a cryptographer, not a mechanical tech. Or an explosives one.

"Um, took out a pretty large hole in... three levels, Specialist, with secondary damage throughout the epicentral level. It also -- frell, it's disabled some lifts. We'll have to adjust our route a little."

"Right. Look into that while I contact Unit Leader Igir." Etael sighed. She'd been reluctant to let Tacer destroy Bastarrex, the center of her existence for *cycles*, but now it looked like Tacer might not even be needed.

# # # # #

~T minus 26 arns~

The little ship seemed to echo with its silence, out of the wailing klaxons, and the lighting was perfectly normal. Therefore it was quite easy to see that Tacer lay sprawled on the bunk -- well, sprawled might be too strong a term, it was a pretty narrow bunk -- in exactly the same position they'd left him in. Chiana had to take a second look to make sure he was even breathing. He was, but very slowly, and his skin was clammy. Chiana didn't know whether to be thankful they'd taken off the stimulant patches before he could get any worse or frustrated that he was so completely useless at the present time.

"Princess!" she called. "How's it coming?"

Their actual reason for returning to the still-unnamed ship was to check on their warhead placement plan. It was getting increasingly difficult to do anything on Bastarrex's computers as the Scarrans set off more and more alarms. Plus, they'd both wanted to get out of the noise for a little while.

"I'm trying to get it onto this handheld data... thing," Jool called back from the cockpit. "How's Tacer?"

"The same." Chiana frowned. "Shouldn't he have improved by now? It's *been* more than ten arns."

The Interion came back into the cabin. She didn't look very princesslike. They were all still wearing their Elite clothes -- they'd have to do something about that when they got away -- and Jool looked more exhausted than arrogant. "Yes, he should have. Here," she offered Chiana one of the handheld data things, "check this, and I'll check him."

She wondered if Jool had forgotten that Chiana couldn't read Elite. Flipping through the screens, she could only shrug -- it *looked* complete. "I don't know. Looks all right."

"And Tacer *has* improved," Jool said, sounding satisfied. "See, his heartrate's stabilized and only a little slower than I'd expect sleeping norm to be, and you can't see as many blood vessels. He's recovering."

"Yeah, but how fast?" Chiana asked. "He's only gotten this much better in ten arns. Is he going to be enough better to fly the ship in, uh, however long we have left now?"

Jool looked at the handheld thing. "About twenty-six arns."

"Call it twenty-four," Chiana corrected. "We need time to get a long ways away before it blows."

Frowning, Jool looked down at the Elite. "I don't know... I *hope* so. Given what he said earlier... fifteen more arns is probably the shortest possible time." She looked worried. "He actually said solar days, but I think he was exaggerating."

"You mean you *hope* he was exaggerating."

Jool stiffened defensively. "I mean we *both* *gambled* that he was exaggerating when we made him take off the stimulant patches."

"That was *your* idea," Chiana pointed out.

"You agreed with me!" Jool protested.

"It was still your idea! And you didn't say anything about him being out so long he couldn't pilot us away!"

"Well, you were the one who took the patches off before he could finish what he was trying to tell us!"

What the frell did Jool think she was doing, making this somehow Chiana's fault? "Because you told me to!"

"I did not!"

"Yes you did! You were saying it for *arns*!"

"I said his system was critically stressed and the patches should come off," Jool sniffed, "but I never told you to take them off before he finished his sentence. And you were *agreeing* with me for arns!"

"I can't believe you're arguing about this when this whole place is going to hezmana around us!"

"I'm arguing? *I'm* arguing? *You're* the one--"

# # # # #

~time indeterminate~

"Actually, John, I realize that it's too late to interfere." Discarding the violin, Harvey stood with arms folded in what might have been supposed to be a Caesar-like pose. Or not. "What I am wondering is just how you are planning on surviving this."

John looked around. Still burning Rome. "Just a knock on the head, Harv. Or do you know somethin' I don't?"

"I was referring to the overall situation, John, not your latest injuries."

"Look, if you don't have any suggestions, I really don't need you here."

"As a matter of fact, John, I *do* have some suggestions."

"Oh, *great*." John watched Rome melt away into one of Bastarrex's apparently innumerable auxiliary command centers. Harvey -- still in the toga! -- went to one of the consoles and called up the big holographic Bastarrex. It flickered -- a pack was still lying on the projector table.

Harvey indicated the projection. "Now, I can't point out the precise locations where you -- and others -- have complicated things enough to render passages--"

"Get to the point."

The clone pouted. "Et tu, John?"

"Harvey--" John said warningly.

"Fine." Harvey pointed to a long vertical dark red line, right next to the central docking shaft. "It seems likely that this is connected with ship construction. It is probably independently powered, and if you're lucky it will have a high-speed lift. Now will you hurry up and get us out of here?"


	24. ** 23 **

~T minus 24 arns~

John opened his eyes with Harvey's words still ringing in his ears... figuratively speaking. The first thing he realized was that he hurt. A lot. Second, he could hear Aeryn swearing under her breath, sounding more frustrated than hurt or afraid, so that was all right. It was tempting to slide back into unconsciousness, to escape the pain, but he knew that would be a very bad idea. //Even if I *didn't* have urgent things to do, Harvey's probably on a Rome kick... next it'll be the Ides of March.// So, he looked around to see they were in what looked like a lift, insofar as he could tell in the dim, shifting illumination, presumably from a handlamp -- the main lights were apparently out. That couldn't be good. He was lying along one wall. Aeryn had somehow gotten up near the ceiling and was working at some sort of panel.

"A'n?" Well, that was intelligible. He swallowed and tried again. "Aeryn?"

"John!" She dropped down the from the ceiling to land beside him, wincing. It was her handlamp. "How are you?"

He tried to sit up. The floor wouldn't stay where it was supposed to. //Must've hit my head.// His head hurt, but not as badly as his shoulder, where -- he checked -- he had a... bandage. //Burn, maybe? Gash?// "'ll be okay, I think."

"Good." Aeryn's expression hardened. "What the *frell* were you thinking?!"

//What does she--// Oh. Right. The human shield deal. //Maybe if I play dumb--// "Um, thinkin' when, Aeryn?"

"Nice try," she said flatly.

Damn. //The truth, maybe?// "Um... well... I didn't think about it, actually. How are *you*?"

"Better than you," she replied, then relented. "Bruised ribs, maybe. Nothing serious. You've been unconscious for over an arn. How's your head?"

He shrugged. "Hurts. I can see straight, but my balance seems to be shot just now -- can't tell which way is up..."

"That might be because the gravity's failed," Aeryn said dryly. "This is just the asteroid's natural gravity, now, and this corner is apparently down."

"Oh. Guess that explains... most of it." He got into a more upright position, now really noticing how light he was -- almost like free-fall. Bastarrex was big enough to have some perceptible natural gravity, but not much. Well, he had been wondering earlier what it would be like with no artificial g... //Careful what you wish for.// "What'd I do to my shoulder?"

"Burn from some debris, I think. I treated it with that kit we found, as soon as I had a chance. After you blew up that room--"

"Me?! That was *your* plan."

"--there was some sort of problem with the local power system and a bigger explosion. We were already in the lift then. It stopped."

"Great."

Aeryn nodded. "The good news is that I've checked that panel. It goes into the lift shaft; there's a ladder and I saw some access hatches farther up. With this low gravity you should be able to manage the ladder even with that shoulder. I thought about starting up, but... even in this gravity, I wasn't sure how to carry you, and it was too risky if the power came back. And we need to get to a lever with power so we can take another lift."

"I can see that." John got to his feet and swayed; he let Aeryn steady him. "Onwards and upwards, huh?" Something occurred to him. "Though if the explosion made this lift stop, it may not be a matter of going up -- well, we do have to go up, but I'm guessing we'll have to go over a ways before we find a working lift."

Aeryn blinked, then got it. "One with a shaft that doesn't go through... whatever sort of mess you made down there. *We* made down there."

"Let's blame it on the Scarrans, they're the ones who set it on fire," John suggested. He looked up at the open access panel. "Shall we climb?"

# # # # #

~T minus 23 arns~

"I'm *busy*." Etael overrode another notification of structural damage and continued with her coding. "What do you want, Grovas? Shouldn't you be on the exit vehicle? I thought the computer had decided you were a renegade."

"It stopped trying to kill him after we, um, officially 'detained' him, Specialist," one of her soldiers replied. Grovas glowered.

"Fine. As I said, Grovas, I'm busy. What do you want?"

He puffed up importantly. "I *want* you to help me recapture John Crichton." Grovas certainly hadn't gotten any less obnoxious since they'd left the creche.

//However, now I outrank him. Ha. Now, John Crichton, who's John Crichton, some outsider, I'm sure I've heard the name... oh.// Etael's hands stilled briefly on the controls. *Him*. //Well, that explains some things...// "Tacer brought him here?" she guessed. "Along with some others I suppose?"

"Yes, some... fugitives from the same Leviathan," Grovas replied. He wouldn't know that a third fellow fugitive had already been *on* Bastarrex. "A Sebacean and an Interion, I think. It's irrelevant. You've obviously gotten into the Bastarrex computer system, you should be able to find them easily enough. I need to bring Crichton back to Central Jurisdate as soon as possible so I can finish analyzing--"

"No, you don't," she interrupted. "Even if I could locate them by computer, which I can't, I wouldn't. Your latest weapons projects are *not* my priority, Grovas. Now will you get to the ship and stay out of the way?"

//Besides,// she thought as her spluttering crechemate was escorted away, //I don't think Central Jurisdate would thank me for helping him. Having Crichton would be even worse than Bastarrex.//

# # # # #

~T minus 22 arns~

It seemed to Chiana that with each arn their progress got slower and the alarms got louder, and more numerous. Jool said that the computer was now providing periodic notices of some sort of really major frell-up in the power system, *plus* the constant Scarran alarms, *plus* advisories of suspicious behavior among Elite, *plus* it seemed finally to have noticed the Peacekeepers. There were all sorts of alarms flashing and wailing, and every time Jool identified herself to the computer -- which she had to do practically every time they wanted to open a door -- it tried to go through them all specifically. It was also saying something about having activated the active internal defense system. Not knowing what that was, they'd ignored it, but now it kept saying something about kill counts, which was more than a little disturbing.

It was a good thing the Bastarrex computer didn't have any surveillance on the ship they were going to steal, or it probably would have threatened to kill *her* for yelling at the director. It had been a way to, as Crichton would put it, blow off steam, at least...

"Turn left here," Jool said -- well, shouted to be heard over the alarms.

"Right!" Chiana shouted back, and started swinging the end of the magcart around. Honestly, if she had any idea where to find ear protectors-- The frelling computer kept talking over itself. It was hard to understand *anything* it was saying.

"--landing bay one-zero-two-seven--"

"--overload in power system of octant two--"

"Warning. Intruders. Warning--"

Another room, another huge, red antimatter warhead placed and set, another destination picked off the schematic. They had less than a solar day left before the explosives went off and, if all went according to plan, Bastarrex exploded into billions of tiny pieces. Or was vaporized outright -- she wasn't quite clear on that point. Either way, *what* a waste. At least she'd gotten the chance to do a *little* looting before things really heated up.

"--critical damage in sectors--"

"--evacuation of adjacent levels--"

"--failure of lifts in rez-4, rez-5, rez-6--"

"Warning. Possible hostile vessel detected. Warning. Tentative identification--"

"Warning. Suspicious activity--"

"--power system of octant two--"

//Uh-oh.// "Was that one new?!" Chiana called.

"What one?!" Jool called back.

"Something about a hostile vessel!" She was pretty *sure* she hadn't heard anything about hostile vessels before. It could be a new arrival. Or it *could* be the Vigilante or whatever the Peacekeepers had arrived in, only now being recognized as a potential threat by the stupid computer. //Stupid? It's not like I've met any *smart* computers. Elite are weird.// And of course they still had no idea how the Scarrans had arrived.

"I don't know! We can check at the next command station!"

//And do what?// Chiana wondered. It wasn't as if Tacer could fly out there in the little ship and blow up the big nasty Vigilante. //Even if we *could* wake Tacer up.//

Well, maybe Bastarrex had automated defenses for this sort of thing, too. In fact, it *probably* did. //You know, it's a good thing after all that we're destroying all this. These security systems are a thief's worst nightmare. Burglars everywhere should be thanking me.// Chiana smiled virtuously. She was certainly doing her part to help others!

# # # # #

~T minus 20 arns~

Aeryn realized the microt she climbed out of the lift shaft that while Bastarrex's gravity was indeed very low, it was not low enough that you could stand normally in a corridor. The pull was slight but noticeable -- it clearly wouldn't take much at all to just go sliding off down this darkened corridor into... wherever it went. She got a good grip on the wall as she helped John clamber after her through the access panel. "Watch your footing, the gravity here..."

"Isn't in alignment with the infrastructure, yeah," he finished, following her example and taking hold of the wall. "'S good to stand on a floor again, though, even if it is tilted. *Damn*, that was a long climb!" He stretched, and winced.

"You all right?" Aeryn asked as she looked around. This corridor corridor was quiet and dark save for their handlamps, but she could hear the distant shrieks of the alarms. It sounded almost as if there were *more* of them. She didn't really want to know what else could have gone wrong in the intervening arns...

John nodded. "I'll be fine. Just sore. My shoulder... and ribs... and bruises... Please don't say 'I told you so,' all right?"

"Oh, I would never say that I told you you had been an idiot and gotten yourself injured," she replied seriously. "Especially as you never listen anyway."

"I do too!" John said indignantly. "I just happened... not to agree with you. Now, where next?"

She smirked, but let him change the subject. "Well, are we still planning on trying to go down the central docking shaft?"

"I haven't gotten any better ideas." John played the beam of his handlamp along the corridor, eying the floor speculatively. "At least it shouldn't be too hard to find our way there. And it shouldn't be a difficult trip, either." He let go of the wall and sprung up towards the ceiling, pushing off it to head back towards the floor a short ways away. "Low gravity! Can't beat it."

It took her a few microts to figure out why he thought it would be easy to find the central shaft, but she got it -- within the confines of a single level, the center would be the lowest point by the natural gravity. They'd go that way automatically. She followed John. "Do you really think the artificial gravity will be out through the entire level?"

"Well... probably not. But we might as well enjoy it while we're here." John continued bouncing down the corridor, muttering something about being able to leap tall buildings in a single bound.

Rolling her eyes, Aeryn followed. //Nice to know someone's getting something out of this... ongoing catastrophe!// All right, so that wasn't fair. It wasn't as if John hadn't been having as many problems as everyone else, even if he did jump into some of them with his I-am-immune-to-explosions attitude. And she had to admit it was nice to see him in something other than a dark mood, or preoccupied. Too much preoccupied, stressed Human tended to make everyone else stressed, too.

"Boing, boing, boing..."

Now, perhaps, he had gone past being stressed and out the other side. She seemed to recall the Human craziness was just as contagious as the stress... "Crichton, will you slow down? We don't want to get separated."

He did slow down, sort of, merely letting the low gravity pull him down the corridor and down to the floor at the same time as he waited for her to catch up. "We do have the opportunity to make up some time here, Aeryn," he pointed out. "You could try speeding up?"

His expression was perfectly innocent, which was suspicious in and of itself. "If you think I'm going to... bounce down the corridor like that--"

"Fastest way of moving here, Aeryn..."

"Frell," she muttered, and hoped that the surveillance in this section was out along with the alarms.

# # # # #

~T minus 19 arns~

"I think it's just noticed the Vigilante," Jool said at last. "At least, it thinks it's a Peacekeeper ship -- as far as I can tell between all these other alerts!"

Chiana, slumped on the magcart, took a swig of water from the container she'd picked up and filled at the last habitation level they went through. "Anything else interesting? New alerts, I mean." In the auxiliary command center -- the latest auxiliary command center they'd visited, that was -- Jool had managed to get the sound alerts turned down enough so they could talk without yelling, though the lights were still flashing enough to make her eyes ache.

"No... no, I don't think so. But it's hard to tell."

"All right, and what about, uh, automated defense stuff? Big computer-controlled frag cannons, that sort of thing?"

Jool shook her head. "I don't know. It has exterior defenses, obviously, and I think it has some sort of automatic system, but I don't know how extensive it is. Or whether it's active." She scowled at the terminal. "I think I have our path planned out to place the next two missiles. Do you think we could stop on one of the medical levels? I want to grab some supplies."

Chiana frowned. "Let's wait and see how we're doing for time, Princess. I don't know if we can afford another detour back to the ship."

"We have over fifteen arns," the Interion pointed out. "Even as slow as it's getting, I think we'll have time to spare."

"Yeah, and if you're wrong, we'll get to find out first-hand what all this fuss about antimatter is about."

"I *told* you, when antimatter comes into contact with normal matter, the two annihilate one another. The energy that's released as a result--"

"And do *you* want to see that up close, Princess?"

# # # # #

~T minus 17 arns~

John sighed in relief when they finally reached the dark red band that surrounded the central docking shaft. Bouncing along in the low gravity had been fun, but they'd reached a powered section about an hour before. Full lights, full *alarm* lights, now nearing strobe intensity, full alarm *klaxons*, in multiple tones and octaves -- those last two were enough to give anyone a migraine all by themselves -- full complement of uncooperative doors, and full gravity. //No more Superman.// Or had it been more a Tigger sort of thing? //Bouncy, bouncy...//

Walking in normal gravity with his various bruises, burns, and contusions was *not* fun. //What,// his muscles cried, //you actually want us to *work*?! After all we've been through? What about disability leave? Sick days? Worker's comp?// He'd just have to hope they didn't unionize and go on strike. //Sinews of John Crichton, unite! You have nothing to lose but your strains...//

Frell, he really had gone off the deep end, hadn't he.

Slumping against the wall, John turned to look at Aeryn. She looked strange in the alarm lights. "Now what?!" he yelled. "Just try the door?!"

Aeryn nodded, hitting the panel. The door had to think about it, but it did edge open; they hurried through while they could.

Inside the ship-related section, John blinked. //Okay, this is just waaay too 'Masque of the Red Death' for me.// Not that it was easy to see the real color in between all the flashing colored lights. //Okay, find the jumbo lift.// He gestured for Aeryn to follow him and limped off along the curving hall.

*Damn*, he wished those alarms would turn off.


	25. ** 24 **

~T minus 15 arns~

Another rumble ran through Bastarrex, faint but perceptible to an Elite -- if only by touch, since it was starting to be hard to hear oneself talk; if it got much louder she was going to *have* to try to disable some the alarms. For the moment, though, Etael didn't look up from her coding. "What was *that*?"

One of her assisting cryptography specialists answered "Just a microt, Specialist..." A short pause, indicating more surprise than work. "It, uh, looks like that was a surface landing bay."

"One-zero-two-seven, I assume?" That was where the Scarrans had landed, and *they* had clearly set off more than one of the computer's major alarms. "I haven't checked what sort of internal weaponry there is in the landing bays -- did it successfully destroy the ship?"

"That was the entire landing bay, Specialist, including the ship. The computer destroyed the whole thing to get the ship when the first shots didn't do it."

"I see." Etael returned with renewed haste to her coding. Bastarrex was getting more volatile by the microt. Maybe she could consider leaving ahead of the deadline, before things got worse.

Another rumble. She clenched her jaw. "And that was?"

"Um, the bay Grovas... and the Peacekeepers, and that... other person landed in. Same as the other one, whole thing gone."

# # # # #

~T minus 14 arns~

After some consideration, Chiana had approved Jool's looting run for medical supplies, and thrown in a trip to get some food and water. She didn't know how well the little ship was provisioned, or how long they'd be stuck on it. Chiana was pretty sure they wouldn't be stopping for supplies at least until they cleared Elite space -- which could take some time, especially if they had to lie low for a while, which seemed likely. (She had been sorely tempted to suggest they also try to find some clothes to replace the Elite uniforms, which in addition to being frelling unattractive were very conspicuous, but decided it wasn't worth any more risk. Especially since they would probably have just found *more* Elite uniforms...)

So, they were making a stop at the ship before heading out to plant more bombs, to drop off the loot and check on their comatose way off the station. And of course visiting the ship had the added benefit of granting a respite from the alarms. //Maybe we should call it the ~No Ear-Shattering Sirens~,// she thought. //That sounds like an appropriate Elite name.// ~Repulsive Upholstery~, indeed.

Tacer still didn't stir as she dumped several bags of medical supplies and ration bars on the floor of the main compartment, but Chiana thought he might have moved a little while they were gone. He hadn't been that much on his side before, had he? She poked him experimentally -- and he moved his head.

"Princess!" Chiana called up to the cockpit, where Jool was checking their plan again. "He moved!" She grabbed Tacer's shoulder and gave him a vigorous shake. "Come on, Tacer, wake up, we need some help here..."

The only response was an indistinct mumble, and a sigh. If anything, he looked *more* asleep.

Jool came hurrying back, tripped over a bag of medical stuff, and landed on a bag of ration bars with a squeak. Picking herself up, she stumbled the very short remaining distance to the bunk. "Is he responding?"

"Well, sort of..." Chiana shook him again and got another mumble. "His skin's warmer, too."

"I think he's starting to come out of it," Jool said, using the little scanner again. "Good. I think he'll probably wake up in the next eight arns or so."

That was definitely a relief. Chiana exhaled. "Good. How many more warheads do we have to take care of?"

"Just two," Jool replied, sounding relieved. "Do you have any idea how we're going to find Crichton and Aeryn after that?"

//None.// "I'm working on it." Chiana sighed. "Come on, let's go."

# # # # #

~T minus 12 arns~

The first sound to register as he woke up was a low, steady, annoying beep. Automatically, he considered the possible sources for such a beep, sorting them out by tone and pattern. //Not wake-up, not emergency alert, not communications, must be message from the computer.// Though why the computer would be trying to talk to *him* instead of Lashan or someone else important, he didn't know. And he couldn't imagine *why* it was set at the horrible, brain-rattling frequency which was making his head feel like it was about the split open. Maybe someone was playing a prank on him, some of the training unit specialists were capable of it. If so, they were not going to like what was going to happen to their laboratory, as soon as he thought of something really bad, maybe involving live animals... He tried to consider it through the pain in his head, then realized that the beep wouldn't stop until he went to see what the computer wanted.

Tacer tried to sit up, and realized, as every other part of his body joined his head in excruciating pain, that it wasn't the beep that was doing it, and that he wasn't in his quarters on Sarac. //Right. Bastarrex. Stimulants. Frell. Dren.//

No sign of Chiana and Jool, which was probably just as well, given that he really wanted to knock their heads together just now. Not that he didn't like Jool, Interion or not, and Chiana was a lot of fun, but he'd *told* them not to do it.

He had to get rid of that beep, even if it was just a secondary source of the pain. His first attempt at speech came out as a croak, and he swallowed a few times. "Information, computer?" There, that had been reasonably intelligible, hadn't it?

The computer repeated an alert that had been broadcasted by the Bastarrex computer regarding hostiles in the area. Nothing he didn't already know, but if the computer had started sending out open-coded alerts, it had to be getting pretty messy. He croaked out a request for more information. Yes, Peacekeepers, revolting Elite -- that'd be Grovas -- and //frell frell frell// Scarrans.

"Well, that's nice," he croaked, then stopped. He needed water, and there was, thankfully, some not far away. He staggered over to his pack, retrieved a half-full water bottle, and drank the whole thing. "Bit better."

Not good, though. His eyesight was blurred, he still had tremors, and of course he hurt. Everywhere. If he ever had to overuse stimulants again, maybe he should just shoot himself *before* the hangover hit.

Plus, his time sense was all off. How long had he been unconscious? It couldn't be the days Zhiv talked about, the lying medic, or Bastarrex would have already detonated. He was pretty sure that hadn't happened, anyway.

//Yes, I probably ought to figure out how long it's been shouldn't I... and where did Chiana and Jool go, anyway?//

Staggering over the hatch, he opened the door to go back to Bastarrex proper -- and the noise that greeted him almost made him pass out again.

//Owww...//

# # # # #

~T minus 11 arns~

"Anything that way?" Aeryn called over the alarms as soon as John came into sight around the bend -- then, realizing her error, she repeated it when he was close enough to actually hear. "Did you find anything?"

John shook his head. "Nothing! You?"

"No. No sign anyone has been here."

"Frell. Back to the lift it is, then."

They'd jettisoned the original plan of just leaping down the docking shaft after jointly concluding that the way things were going, it would probably depressurize while they were halfway down. Unfortunately, the new plan wasn't any better -- less insane, maybe, but also a lot slower. And she seriously thought it might be driving her insane. Going through level after level after level of ship-related areas around the docking shaft, clambering around on the fright lift, listening to the wailing alarms and Crichton's periodic complaints about the color of the walls -- she really didn't understand what his problem was -- checking control panel after control panel for evidence it had been used in the last cycle...

Actually, they'd been lucky with that. For some reason there were covers over the controls for the hatches that led into the docking shaft and any ships therein, and the accumulated dust around the edges of the covers fell out immediately when they were opened. Going around looking at all the panel covers was unbelievably slow, but faster than going around getting all the hatches to open -- a harder and harder task -- and wandering around the ships beyond. So far, no sign.

She was beginning to worry that there wasn't a ship to find. Tacer had looked very bad...

They reached the cargo lift, which, instead of a moving platform, was run entirely by gravity manipulation -- sort of like the tube down to Bastarrex, except the gravity wasn't natural, and it went the wrong way. Falling up was even less fun than falling down, as John had complained several times already. And the transition between the lift and normal gravity was still less fun -- you had to grab onto the narrow access ladders on the wall, somehow keep from swinging around upside down relative to the main gravity field, and clamber -- while upside down relative to the gravity field you were in -- onto the next level. It was enough to make her sick to her stomach, not to mention make her arms sore.

And all of this, of course, accompanied by Bastarrex's alarms. It seemed one could get used to the noise. She didn't know about John, but she wasn't even hearing the assortment of alerts the computer was still giving anymore.

Crichton's mouth was moving, so she knew he was keeping up a running commentary on the situation, but thanks to the alarms she'd only heard a few snatches -- something about a 'funhouse from hell.' Aeryn wasn't sure how she felt about that -- she probably wouldn't have understood the rest of it any more, but the sense of... distance... was disconcerting.

Worse yet, John wasn't looking very good. The explosion was catching up with him -- and getting his shoulders badly jarred every time they got off the freight lift couldn't be helping. She was not, frelling *not*, going to let him get himself any more injured. If and when they found the ship, he was going to *stay* there, if she had to sit on him.

And she couldn't escape the feeling that time was running out...

Aeryn wasn't looking when John lost his grip on the ladder and kept falling up, but she heard him swear and quickly let go again herself. //Frell, frell, I knew this was coming, he's been getting tired, frell...// "Try to grab it again!" she yelled, hoping he could hear her. Frell, it wasn't as if she could *catch up* with him, this was a stupid idea, what sort of safety measures did this thing have anyway--

John abruptly disappeared from view, pulled onto one of the levels.

"Frell! Crichton!" She immediately grabbed for the access ladder and jolted to a stop, sliding a bit farther up... down... whatever, and taking some skin off her palms. //What in hezmana was--//

A head stuck out of the level -- light hair, darker stripe -- Tacer. He looked down... up...? Well, from his perspective it would be down. "Aeryn? Hi."

She relaxed. "I'll be right there!"

Tacer was waiting to help her swing between gravity fields, but she lost her balance anyway, and ended up in a heap on the floor alongside Crichton -- and Tacer, who went right down with her. The Elite had reddened eyes, clammy skin, shaking hands, and generally looked--

"Frell, Tacer, you look like you were either hit by a bus or went on a four-day bender," John said. "Or both. You okay? Where're the girls?"

Tacer was staring vacantly out into the cargo lift shaft, frowning slightly, and didn't answer. John gave her a worried look.

"Tacer," Aeryn tried. "Tacer!"

He blinked. "What?" His mouth moved before he realized he had to speak up. "Oh... um... hi. Crichton, Aeryn. You two all right? Stupid question... look like you were in an explosion."

"Several, actually," John shouted. "But we're fine, aren't we, Aeryn?" He looked at her again, then stiffened. "Oh, hell, your hands. You've got ladder-burn."

"It's nothing to worry about, John. Calm down," she replied. "Do you know what's happening, Tacer?"

"Um... sort of... well... not really. I was looking around, trying to find a command station or something, but all the doors have gone strange. Won't even open for me, and the computer's not even threatening to kill me... threatening to kill something..." He jumped. "Wait! Code Four... Type Red... intruders... Scarrans. There Scarrans here. Not *here* here, but somewhere around here. I think..."

"Okay, there's definitely somethin' wrong with him," Crichton said in a low voice, or as low as was practical, anyway. "He was a little spacey sometimes earlier, but nothin' like this."

"A side effect of whatever he was shot with?" Aeryn suggested.

"No... no... that was a toxin... that's all fixed," Tacer assured them. "This is... um... stimulants. Might've used too much. All right, probably used too much. Not my fault, though, had to stay awake..." His voice dropped enough to become inaudible. Aeryn caught something about warheads, which wasn't very reassuring.

John tried again. "Tacer, do you know where the girls are? Chiana and Jool? Do you know where they are?" But the Elite was staring into space again, and just looked faintly confused John sighed, almost audibly. "I asked-- Frell this. Do you know if there's anywhere *quieter*?"

Tacer perked up at that. "That's an idea. Sure... um... ship." He gestured vaguely, but didn't move.

If there was somewhere quieter around, Aeryn was all in favor of a move. She got up, helped John up over his protests, and then both of them hauled Tacer to his feet. He managed to lead them down the corridor to a ship hatch, and even open it himself, though he stumbled and nearly fell as he walked in. Aeryn sighed and supported him into the main compartment -- unreasonably elaborate for a ship this small -- while Crichton sealed the hatch.

The ensuing quiet made her ears ring.

John limped into the main compartment and dropped down onto the bench. "*That's* a relief. This place was well on its way to drivin' me insaner."

Aeryn nodded agreement. "All these alarms going off at the same time are worse than useless. Tacer, where are Chiana and Jool?"

The Elite, who had slumped down on the lowest of three bunks, shook his head. "Were gone when I woke up. Assume they're setting up the other warheads."

"Yeah, I thought I heard somethin' about that," John said grimly. "To blow up Bastarrex?"

"Yes. Antimatter warheads. Programmed them to go off in thirty-seven arns." Tacer scowled. "Just don't know how long ago that was. I was *expecting* to be out for days after I stopped the stimulants, but obviously I wasn't. My time sense is frelled."

//And so are we, if we don't sort this out.// The base was already set to explode? Might be exploding at any time? Frell--

"Uh, how 'bout you try to figure it out, okay, Tacer?" John suggested. "It's pretty important."

"I know, I know... computer's gotten a lot worse, though. Hard to check anything. Jool could probably still get in... Scarrans! It said something about Scarrans--"

Aeryn sighed. "This does not look good," she said. Peacekeepers used stimulants occasionally, but rarely pilots. The side effects could have very bad results in a Prowler, where precision was necessary. And Tacer seemed to have severely disordered his mind, at the very least.

"He does seem a little trippy, doesn't he?" John agreed. "Tacer, are you gonna be able to pilot this thing?"

Tacer frowned, looking genuinely troubled. "Not sure. Right now -- I couldn't. Could show you the controls, make it let you in, anyway -- the ship, I mean."

"And you have no idea where Chiana and Jool are?" John asked again. At Tacer's glum headshake, he turned to Aeryn. "What do you think?"

Chances were Chiana and Jool were all right -- Jool was the 'director,' after all -- and there was certainly very little chance of finding them. "I think we need to look at the flying controls," she said.

John held up a hand. "Not until we get a first aid kit for your hands."

"*I* need a medical kit?" Aeryn looked pointedly from John's shoulder and assorted contusions, to Tacer's bloodshot eyes and unfocused expression, and back again.

# # # # #

~T minus 9 hours~

"This is the last one, right?!" Chiana yelled as she wrestled the warhead onto the magcart.

Jool nodded, bending over the control panel. "But I'm having a lot of trouble with the computer! I just don't know enough about it! How are we going to find-- Frell! What's--?"

The door Jool was working on opened with a shower of sparks, and Chiana and Jool found themselves face to face with a unfamiliar, scorched-looking Elite -- and a squad of Peacekeepers. The Peacekeepers seemed as surprised as they were -- but they were the ones standing in the doorway.

The head Peacekeeper's jaw dropped open. "Where the frell did they come from?" he said, or at least probably said. Chiana couldn't hear him at all. Then he aimed his pulse pistol at them and hollered, "Surrender!"

"I can't hear you!" Chiana stalled. She was still trying to come up with a way out of this new predicament when several things seemed to happen at once. The Peacekeepers advanced on them, Jool shrieked -- now why did *that* have to be high-pitched enough to carry above the alarms? -- the *alarms* shrieked even louder as if in response, and someone opened fire.

No, some*thing* opened fire...

Chiana hit the floor. "There are guns in the walls!" she yelled at Jool. "You didn't say anything about guns in the walls!"

"How was *I* supposed to know about them?!" Jool yelled back. "Blame Tacer!"

"I would, but he's not here!"

The scorched-looking Elite and the Peacekeeper in charge seemed to be yelling at each other, too, though with some difficulty as they had to dodge fire from the ceiling at the same time. In fact, the Peacekeepers overall were having more trouble with the -- uh -- security system. Which made sense when she thought about it -- they'd threatened the great director.

They could use that.

"Princess," Chiana called, "let's go!" She scrambled to her feet and lunged for the door. It was still full of Peacekeepers, even though they'd taken cover, but they *had* to get away.

She stepped on a Peacekeeper. A Peacekeeper grabbed her ankle. She stomped on his hand and stumbled onwards. A Peacekeeper shot at her. The responding fire from the computer-controlled weapons in the ceiling took out the commando, but came so near her ear she could feel the heat as it passed. Behind her, Jool *tripped* over a Peacekeeper -- Chiana took the time to drag the Interion after her. As they made it through the door and out into the corridor, the guns there opened up, too.

By that time the Peacekeepers were starting to get up and go after them, and the body count was *really* climbing.


	26. ** 25 **

~T minus 6 arns~

Tacer was curled up on the bench, leaning against the bulkhead, his eyes closed. John shook the Elite's shoulder and got only an indistinct mumble in reply. "Well, Tacer's out again," he reported, looking up towards the cockpit, where Aeryn was still trying to familiarize herself with the controls. She'd only given in and taken a short arn-long nap after he pointed out that having her just as exhausted as Tacer wouldn't improve the situation at all. "Should I wake him up?"

"No, not yet," Aeryn replied. "We may need him as alert as possible when we leave."

"Oh. Good point." Leaving Tacer asleep, John headed forward and lowered himself awkwardly into a low-slung seat. "Frell, I wish the girls would show up," he said, not for the first time. "Maybe I should go look for them."

"Crichton..."

He smiled sheepishly. "Right. Sorry." Every time he'd said it before, Aeryn had pointed out that they had been incredibly lucky to find the ship, which was staying in one place. Wandering around Bastarrex, in the midst of alarms, sirens, sealed doors, Peacekeepers, and Scarrans, *without* the assistance of someone who knew roughly how Bastarrex worked, looking for two people who were probably *also* moving around was madness. "How's it going with the controls?"

Aeryn shrugged. "They're... very complicated. I'm not even sure what half of these are supposed to do."

"And just pushin' buttons up here probably wouldn't be a good idea." After his own nap (enforced by Aeryn), and with the pain in his shoulder banished by a handy 'analgesic patch,' John had done rather a lot of experimenting with controls in the main cabin and the bathroom. The food processor-dispenser thing, not supplied with any raw materials, had made some very alarming noises, and he'd almost collapsed a bunk on Tacer -- who'd slept through it -- but fortunately he'd managed to turn the shower off again before he got really soaked.

"No," Aeryn agreed, probably also thinking of the shower. "But I have the basics down. I can fly us out of here -- if the docking shaft is open."

"Oh. Hmm." He hadn't thought of that. John looked back towards Tacer. "Should I wake him up now, do you think?"

"Maybe. If--"

Aeryn was cut off by the sudden, violent intrusion of the Bastarrex Concerto for Sirens, Klaxons, and Alarming Rumbling Noises. John nearly fell out of his seat. //Frell, the airlock opened!// Grabbing his pulse pistol, he tripped out of the cockpit into the micro-corridor, Aeryn on his heels, only to nearly collide with Jool, who screamed.

The scream hit full height just as most of the Bastarrex Concerto was cut off. Chiana burst out of the airlock, her own weapon in hand. There was a ~thump~ from the main compartment, followed by swearing. Tacer was wakeable, after all.

"Crichton!" Jool said, sounding at once immensely relieved and faintly accusatory. "How'd you get in here? Isn't the airlock, uh, locked?"

"It'd better be, the Peacekeepers were right behind us!" Chiana put in.

"Tacer let us in," Aeryn said. "Peacekeepers followed you here?"

"We ran right into them," Chiana lamented. "And they've been chasing us ever since. It's *really* messy. The computer is trying to shoot them."

Would the excitement never stop? //Don't ask that.// "Well, you all right, Pip, Princess?" John asked.

Chiana nodded. "Fine. What about you? How'd you get away? Did you say Tacer woke up?"

"Speak for yourself!" Jool said indignantly. "I am *not* fine. I think I've twisted my ankle. And the computer almost shot me, and the Peacekeepers almost shot me, and *Chiana* almost shot me--"

"I did not! That wasn't even close! And you didn't twist your ankle, you tripped."

No serious injuries, then. "We're all right, too," John began.

"*Mostly* all right," Aeryn interrupted pointedly.

John rolled his eyes. "A little battered, maybe." No way was he giving Jool the opportunity to harass him about his shoulder. "You know, crazed Elite scientists, tyrannical computers, dramatic shootouts, Scarrans, explosions, stuck lifts, gravity failures, the usual. Although my eardrums may never be the same. I was more worried about you -- what happened? What did Grovas do to Tacer, anyway?"

"Didn't he tell you?" Chiana said.

"He's, uh, still sort of out of it." John looked into the main compartment -- Tacer was lying on the floor staring at the ceiling. //Probably contemplating the effort of getting up.// "Something about a toxin? And I guess he was on the stimulants again?"

"Yes and yes," Jool replied. "And if he's awake, I should check on him."

John indicated the main compartment. "Sort of awake, anyway." Trying to give Jool enough room to actually get past him *to* the main compartment, he glanced towards the airlock. "Are you-- Ow! Watch it!" Jool had managed to elbow him in the ribs in passing, not fun on top of the bruises he already had. "Are you sure that will hold up under fire? We don't want any holes in a ship we intend to use."

He'd directed the question at Chiana, but it was Aeryn who answered. "It should. Certainly against ordinary pulse fire. If they have explosives it's more questionable, but if the ship is any good--"

"'S a great ship," Tacer slurred from the main cabin. "Beautiful. Lovely ship."

John and Aeryn exchanged glances. Obviously, someone was still not running on all cylinders. "How is he, Jool?"

"His vital signs are... on the way to normal," the Interion replied. "But, obviously, he's still suffering some aftereffects. He needs to rehydrate and eat something. Now that we're all here and we've placed the frelling explosives, can we leave?"

"No," Aeryn said. "We're effectively inside a docking bay, with a closed door. And how we're going to open it when the corridor is full of Peacekeepers--"

//Oh, frell.// "Blast our way out?" John wondered. "No, the computer'd probably blast *us*. Think there's any way to do it from in here? Tacer? Think you can pull your brain together long enough to figure it out?" He moved into the main compartment himself -- no sense in everyone hanging around in the micro-hallway -- and sat on the bench, clearing aside some bags of god-knew-what. Had Chiana been scavenging? Aeryn joined him, perching on the edge of the table, while Chiana lingered in the doorway.

Tacer was still on the floor, but sitting up and trying to shrug off Jool's examination. "'M not sure. Easier from a control center. A lot easier. 'll need to verify director's identity to do it..."

"Just to open the docking shaft?" Aeryn asked.

"Well, to open the docking shaft after I locked out the controls earlier to keep anyone else from opening it while we were in it."

"Ah."

John sighed. "All right, once more unto the breach. About how many Peacekeepers were following you, Pip?"

Chiana made a face. "I'm not sure. More than ten. Less than thirty. At the rate the computer was taking them down, maybe -- fifteen?"

"Fifteen," John repeated, and looked at Aeryn. "I don't think fifteen is too many to handle, do you? As long as you haven't forgotten to mention any Scarrans or other hazards."

"No, but there was an Elite with them."

"Hajen," Tacer muttered darkly.

"Public Speaker of the Year?" John asked, then hastily amended, "the person who wouldn't get off the internal comm, I mean. And who brought the Peacekeepers."

"Yes. Her. Frell!" Tacer leaned his head back against the bunk and closed his eyes. "Frell. I was hoping it wouldn't come to this."

There was an odd tone in his voice... "Fighting other, Elite, you mean?" John asked.

"No, not exactly... I mean, I *wouldn't* want to attack the Elite, but Hajen all but has a shoot-on-sight order on her already. Most people -- most Elite, I mean -- would probably *approve* of terminating her. It's just... well... I know her, you know? Even if we did part on really bad terms. And I've never done a termination, much less someone I knew..."

//Hell.// "Look -- Tacer -- uh--"

"You aren't going to be doing any shooting at all when you can't hold a weapon steady," Aeryn interrupted.

"We've already established I can't open the... the doors from in here."

"She means you're waiting here with Princess until the shooting's over," John said, giving Aeryn a grateful look, and knowing that no one had given her such an easy out when a similar situation had arisen for her. "Uh, how far is it to the nearest command thingy, would you say?"

"Not too far, I think. There'll be an auxiliary center on this level, at least." Tacer tried to get up, and managed to lever himself onto the lowest bunk. "Shouldn't take to long to get there."

Chiana spoke up from the doorway. "But it'll take a while to get the computer to do anything even *with* Princess. It won't shut up. Keeps repeating every single alarm message it has."

Tacer frowned. "Auto-alerts? You can turn those off."

"Maybe you can, but Jool can't. And *I* certainly don't know how the fekik computer works!"

"Oh." Tacer shrugged. "Well, if we can get there and unseal the docking shaft, it won't matter anyway. And I should probably say something to Etael. So..."

John looked to Aeryn, to find her looking at him. He spoke first. "Think we should come up with a plan, or just burst out shooting?"

Aeryn smiled dryly. "Which do you think?"

# # # # #

~T minus 4 arns~

Of course it couldn't be that simple. Jool and Tacer and Chiana had to make contributions, and Crichton was constitutionally incapable of charging out without *something* resembling a plan. Aeryn wished she had legitimate grounds to order John to wait in the ship, but... she didn't. He was battered, but so were the rest of them, and they couldn't spare the firepower. And the medical kit had helped, and the few arns of rest.

//Arns...// They were getting dangerously low on arns. They couldn't afford to waste more time.

"All right, let's get this show on the road," John said, as if reading her mind. "Princess, you got Tacer? Wait for the all-clear before you follow us, but *do* follow us, okay?" He smiled back at Jool's disgusted look. "Okay. Aeryn? We ready?"

Adjusting her grip on her pulse rifle, Aeryn looked over the group. Her, John, Chiana, Tacer leaning on Jool... "As ready as we're going to get, I think. I'll go first. Chiana, you want to get the airlock?"

The Nebari nodded and hit the controls. The airlock opened on the continuing cacophony and some startled Peacekeepers. Aeryn headed through shooting.

She'd been in shootouts with worse odds -- the Shadow Depository raid came to mind -- but this one was already a strong contender for most *chaotic* shootout. It wouldn't have qualified as such were it not for the fire coming from the automated defenses, and of course the alarms. She was really starting to hate those alarms. //Frell that. I've been hating them for a very long time now.//

The shootout abruptly got *far* more chaotic with a series of explosions that could be heard even above the klaxons. //Frell, now what?!// It wasn't until she saw one of their opponents get blown backwards, not to mention blown up, that she realized what it was.

"Chiana, that's for Scarrans!" John yelled

"What?!" Chiana yelled back.

"I said, *that's for Scarrans*! That needler! The one that's blowing -- oh, never mind!"

"Just watch your aim very carefully!" Aeryn shouted, not daring a look behind her, just as a needle exploded on the floor not a pace away from her. "*Chiana*!"

"I *am* being careful!"

Hazardous as it was, the needler definitely encouraged their surviving opponents to run away, the automated pulse fire following after them a few microts later, leaving them in sole possession of a very, very messy corridor. It wasn't so much the bodies, or the debris from explosions, but the debris from exploding bodies... Aeryn had to look away, and if she was reacting like this...

"Oh, God," John said in a strangled voice, barely audible over the alarms. "That's -- that's an ugly way to die."

//Thank you, Crichton, I was trying not to think about that.// Tacer's squeamishness had unearthed some thoughts she'd have much rather left buried -- things like the knowledge that these commandos and techs had only been following orders, and what else could they do, and there but for getting too near a starburst three years ago... It could so easily have been her.

"Quick, though, for most species," Tacer said, and she wondered whether he knew what she was thinking. "And shock hits almost instantaneously. Don't feel much at all." He was looking at... at the floor... his face unreadable. There wasn't anything in Elite blue.

"It's still gruesome!" Jool said shrilly. "Can we *go*?!"

None of them needed much encouragement. Aeryn tried to take point, but they needed Tacer for directions, and if they got too far apart they couldn't hear each other, so they just ended up in a clump. Jool stepped in some blood and screamed, Tacer offered to smack her, Jool threatened to leave him in the corridor. John made Chiana trade the needler for a normal pulse pistol, over her protests. The computer continued to repeat warnings of innumerable disasters, all at the same time, so that none could be understood. The sirens wailed, the lights flashed in far too many colors, and overall things failed to notably improve.

At last they found an auxiliary command center, and Tacer and Jool moved forward to open in. It took them over two hundred microts just to unseal the door.

In response to something John asked, Chiana shook her head. "Yeah, this is about the standard time. A little longer, maybe -- it keeps getting longer."

When she walked into the room, a pulse blast hummed past her ear. She ducked out again quickly. "What the frell was that?!"

John shrugged. "It's gotten you mixed up with the Peacekeepers? Maybe we'd better wait out here while they get those doors!"

So they stood in the corridor and waited. And waited. And waited. The Peacekeepers didn't come back, and the Scarrans didn't show up, but Aeryn counted two new color/frequency combinations in the alarm lights, and John made an observation about the addition of 'Disturbing Atmospheric Hisses' to the 'cuncherto.' She didn't know what he meant by cuncherto, but he had the disturbing atmospheric hisses down right.

After what felt like about ten arns but had to be less, since they hadn't all been blasted into nothingness, Jool, Tacer, and Chiana emerged. "Shaft's decompressing," Tacer announced. "Should be done soon. Let's go."

"He sent a message to that annoying Etael person," Jool complained.

"Told you I thought I should say something... tell her we're done and leaving... at least tell her that the computer's getting fahrbot and she might want to leave soon, too. Don't want her to get caught in the blast." Off looks from both Jool and Aeryn, Tacer shrugged. "Etael's not a bad person. Driven, self-centered, annoying, but not *bad*. She's just... Etael."

Aeryn nodded. Ultimately it didn't really matter. "Let's get back to the ship."

They hurried down the hall and, unfortunately, had to stop and wait amidst the evidence of their earlier fight while Jool got the door to the ship unsealed. Aeryn kept her gaze steadfastly up, off the floor, looking for any sign of the Peacekeepers coming back. There was none. //Maybe they've realized it's time to get the frell off this death trap of an installation.//

The lock opened. They spilled into the ship. Aeryn headed immediately for the cockpit, everyone but Jool on her heels. Aeryn swung into the pilot's seat. Good -- the shaft had decompressed and they were clear to leave.

"I think I'm all right to fly now," Tacer objected mildly.

"No you're not," John and Chiana said in near-unison. After a pause, John continued alone. "You still look, sound, and act hung-over. No driving for you."

"Plus, you kept running into walls," Chiana contributed. "Not the person we want piloting us out of a long narrow docking shaft."

"All right, fine, I get it..." Tacer said, dropping into the second chair and pointed to some controls. "This can get complicated. First you need to unhook from the mooring..."

Aeryn let him talk her through it -- she might have spent arns working on the controls, but there were a *lot* of them. Soon, they were moving down a docking shaft which couldn't really be described as 'narrow.' More like 'cavernous.' They might even have been able to get a command carrier into it, though not without moving out some of the ships already there. In any event, they cleared the shaft without incident...

...and then, finally, they were out of Bastarrex. Aeryn accelerated immediately -- no hetch drive yet, or whatever the Elite/Ashkren drive was called, not in the middle of an asteroid field, but good speed -- only pausing first to make sure there wasn't anything in their path. Who knew what other ships might be in the area.

They were *out*.

# # # # #

~T minus 1 arn~

It was time to leave. Etael was just about to shut down her terminal -- pointless considering it would all be destroyed in a very short time -- when she saw she had another message from 'Director Hovalis,' timestamped about an arn before. //Tacer.// Hesitating a microt, she played it.

The image of Tacer was backlit by alarm lights, and he had to speak up over the sirens. He did look a little less exhausted, though. "Etael. Just, um, just wanted to tell you we're out of here. Still on the same schedule but this thing is trying to destroy *itself*. Tell Lashan I... just tell her I made it out safely, all right? And I'll be in touch in a few cycles." He smiled. "See you around, Etael."

The image flickered out. Etael shut down the terminal and headed out into the corridor, joining the group of specialists, techs, and escorts heading for their exit vehicle, carrying more of the precious data modules.

Igir swung in beside her. "Specialist," he said, over the alarms. "This makes everyone."

She nodded. "Good."

He paused. "Did you find what you were looking for, Specialist?"

Etael looked at the data modules, like the data modules already on the exit vehicle, all of them filled with copied information to be further decoded, sorted, interpreted, and, maybe, utilized. "We won't be able to tell for a while yet, Igir," she said. "But I hope so. I really hope so."

They went on to the exit vehicle. It was time, finally, to leave Bastarrex behind.

# # # # #

~T~

"And it should be right about--" Tacer hesitated "--now!"

Sure enough, light bloomed in the center of the viewer, bright enough to make John squint and Chiana cover her eyes. Tacer, for all his Elite super-vision, was unfazed. Aeryn was concentrating on piloting, and Jool had retired to the main compartment to give herself an injection for pain, so only the three of them were watching Bastarrex's fiery death, Chiana and John crowded in behind the actual seats. "So that's what an asteroid-sized space station exploding because of antimatter warheads looks like from... however far away we are. Huh, looks *kinda* like the Death Star... sorta..."

"How far away are we, anyway," Tacer said, and leaned over to check some sort of readout. "Ah. Um... let me think... about twenty warheads... four jendil in each... calculate... estimate elasticity... divide by mass... except I don't know the mass..."

"Tacer?" Aeryn asked. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm trying to estimate how long before the concussive wave hits," he replied. "Dren, I have no idea about that..."

"Uh, Tacer? We're in space," John pointed out. "A vacuum?"

"Well, maybe wave wasn't the right word for it. Impact of cloud of high-speed particulates? And of course maybe some larger ones, too, but those'll mostly be slower..."

"Do we need to worry about this?" Aeryn asked.

"No, not really. It's just, like... a concussive wave. Probably knock us forward. Fine-tune the gravitational fields enough and we won't even feel it in here." Tacer frowned. "Well, there might actually be some minor hull damage, I guess. If we moved behind an asteroid--"

Aeryn sighed. "Frell that," she said, and shifted the ship into hetch. "I have had *enough* of Bastarrex, I don't need to be bombarded with any more of it."

Tacer broke off. "All right, yes, at this speed we probably won't be hit by any concussive waves."

He sounded almost disappointed.


	27. Epilogue

"...and after rendezvousing with Specialist Etael, we reported here as ordered," Lashan finished, carefully keeping her voice steady. Standing in the sunken center of the Jurisdators' deliberation chamber, lights on you, unable to clearly see the Jurisdators sitting at the curved tables around you, could be unnerving for the inexperienced. //For most people, actually. Including me.// "Evidence indicates the Peacekeeper Vigilante was close to Bastarrex when the facility exploded and was destroyed as well. We saw no evidence of any further activity by Peacekeepers, Scarrans, or other outsiders before returning; barring any reports to the contrary, I believe we can assume all Peacekeepers and Scarrans who went to Bastarrex are dead." Her report concluded, she fell silent, waiting for the Jurisdators to ask any questions.

They weren't long in coming. "And the detainees recovered from the crash on Sarac? What became of them?"

Lashan tried not to wince visibly. "Specialist Etael might have a better idea of that. I had no contact with them after they left the Spear for Bastarrex -- for which event I accept full responsibility." Of course, she'd already heard from Etael that the ex-detainees, and Tacer, had made it safely away But that was Etael's report to give.

There was a brief pause. "Noted. The circumstances surrounding those detainees were complex, Captain, and you did as well as could be expected."

//Good. I'm all right.// Externally, her formal posture didn't change, but she relaxed very slightly. She'd interpreted the unstated orders correctly; she wasn't in trouble. Which made things look more promising for Tacer in a few cycles, too. "Jurisdators."

"That will be all for now, Captain Lashan. You may be recalled for further clarifications at a later time."

"Jurisdators," she said again, nodding formally, and retreated from the room.

Iber and Etael were waiting in the antechamber, both clad, like Lashan, in the closest the Elite had to dress uniform. "How'd they seem?" Iber asked.

Lashan shook her head. "You know how hard it is to tell what they're thinking. They didn't dismember me, if that tells you anything. But I'm not a telepath. Which of you is next?"

"I am," Iber sighed. "I'm going to have to explain Hajen. I think they *are* going to dismember me."

"They're probably waiting for reports from the data analysts," Etael added. "They're still trying to sort out what, exactly, I copied."

Having seen the pile of data modules Etael and her units had brought off Bastarrex, Lashan could only pity the analysts. Etael would be all right. And Iber... well, he'd get burned over Hajen, but in all honesty he deserved to be. But he'd be all right. It had all worked out well enough -- even if Zhiv was still complaining about vanishing patients, and she was short an aide.

Sitting down on one of the benches, Lashan closed her eyes and wished she *was* a telepath. //It's not a nice galaxy out there, Tace. Be careful.//

# # # # #

It would take a few days yet to reach the nearest commerce planet outside Elite territory, and in the meantime, they were all battling boredom. //Not that that's terribly difficult.// With careful precision, Tacer executed a roll, then several loops. Lovely things, field generators -- none of his passengers noticed a thing.

"The idea, Princess, is that without us interrupting all the time, they will talk and sort things out," Chiana said, slowly and clearly. "That way, we will not be cooped up on this little ship with the two of them acting the way they have been since Talyn got back. Which would probably end in death, though I'm not sure whose."

Jool pouted. "Fine. But why are *you* sitting in the second seat while I'm stuck back here on the floor? I'm the--"

"You're not the director anymore, Jool, and if you'd rather go stand around in the nolie, that's fine with--"

Tacer elected to interrupt. "We're all up here in the cockpit so we can try to decide on a name for this ship," he reminded them. "We'll all have to vote later, but let's go over the suggestions so far--"

"Oh no," Jool muttered. Interions! He ignored it.

"One, the ~Mildly Gross Upholstery.~ I'd object to that one on the grounds that the upholstery here really isn't that bad."

"That was one of Crichton's," Chiana said. "How about some of mine?"

"No, no," Jool said. "I refuse to agree to anything with... crude connotations. Not for the name of the *ship*!"

"Princess, you're no fun at all."

"What, not even the ~Frell That~?" Tacer asked. "I thought that one was pretty good. Or how about ~Utility Belt~?" For some reason, both of them gave him really strange looks. "What? I think it works."

Chiana rolled her eyes. "I don't. And I don't think it's fair that Princess just sweepingly rules out all of my suggestions."

"Well, if any of your suggestions had been fit for polite company--"

"Jool, we're not *in* polite company. Deal with it!"

Tacer coughed loudly. "The ~Director Hovalis~?"

"Absolutely not!"

"The ~Ashkren Transport~?"

"That was Aeryn, right?"

"The ~Ration Bar~?"

"And that was you."

"And your point? How about ~Lilloorlilellalel~?"

"*What*?"

"Uh, I'm not quite sure -- Jool?"

"It's a kind of avian, it sings quite--"

"No. I can't even pronounce it. Tacer! Next!"

"~Ship~?"

"I don't think you should have written down everything Aeryn said while she was trying to get you to shut up."

"The ~Sharp Stick~?"

"Yet another -- was that you or Crichton?"

"You figure it out. The ~Complicated Control Panel~?"

"I think people are frightened of Elite for all the wrong reasons."

"Should I be insulted? The~Tralk~?"

"I said I didn't want to hear anything like that!"

"Princess, I keep telling you, we're--"

"Hush. The ~Apples of Discord~?"

"Where does Crichton come *up* with this stuff?"

"I don't know. How about..."

# # # # #

John listened to the faint murmur of voices from the cockpit. A little irritated, but not really upset, and Tacer could be counted on to smooth any serious problems that arose. Nothing that would require him to intervene. Or move.

They really had tried to have a discussion. But Aeryn's eyelids had started drooping as soon as she'd sat down -- except for her arn-long nap before the girls had gotten back, the last sleep she'd gotten had been in the experimental subjects room. He was a little fuzzy on how long ago that was, but it had to be over a day. John had at least been unconscious for an arn since then, plus a nap.

All right, so he was pretty tired, too.

They weren't out of danger yet. They hadn't found Moya yet, or found out what had happened to the others. But for now, they weren't under attack, he and Aeryn were at peace, and all the bickering was going on in a different room.

Time to get some sleep.

*finis*


	28. Afterword and Annotations

**Afterword** \-- 12/11/02

After I finished my first fanfic, 'Should've Brought a Bag,' a.k.a. 'Attack of the Jellfu,' I marveled at how easy it was to finish.

Not so 'Golden Apples.' This fic. Was trying. TO KILL ME.

This is really not surprising. In 'Golden Apples' I allowed in the original characters I quite deliberately excluded from 'Should've Brought a Bag.' I wandered into new settings to explore. I addressed more dangerous opponents than mutant food cubes. This fic turned out to be over four times as long as my first. I started it in early January and finished in late November. It was trying to KILL ME!

This is the fic that made me swear off mind-numbing computer games until I finished it. (See? I told you it was trying to kill me.)

Having survived the experience, I am happy to tell you all you ever wanted to know (and probably some you didn't) about 'Golden Apples.'

 

'Golden Apples' demonstrates a characteristic of mine, fanfiction-wise, that I suspect is both a weakness and a strength. Not only do I make up original characters, I make up original worlds from whence they came. It happens automatically. So, the Elite.

I am honestly not sure quite how or when I came up with the Elite. I do know that they incorporated some thoughts I'd been having for a while about the inherent flaws in the whole concept of creating supersoldiers. If the supersoldiers are not better at fighting than you are, there isn't much point in creating them. If they are, if you've created something without any clear weaknesses for your enemies to exploit, you've also created something that, if push comes to shove, you can't control. The Ashkren actually did realize this, but they kept going with the plan anyway until it was way too late to stop. Oops.

The Elite are also one possibility for what happens to a completely military-based culture if it does, in fact, overthrow its rulers and go looking for better things. As Lashan observed, it is very hard to maintain control as a military oligarchy when (a) everyone is in the military and (b) that military, including you, recently mutinied en masse due to excessive control. What can you do? Of course, the Elite are an extreme example -- they had *no* prior culture, no old traditions to return to. The culture they knew most about, that of the Ashkren, belonged to a group they despised. The Elite, and the Generated as a whole, are a species with no idea of where they're going or what they're going to do when they get there. The major Elite characters -- Tacer, Lashan, Etael, Zhiv, Grovas, and Hajen -- are all trying to deal with being a very confused species. Said methods vary considerably in productivity.

There are still a lot of unanswered questions about the Elite and the Generated. Some of them I know the answers to; others I don't. Ask me, and the answers are more likely to make it into the next fic.

 

On my method of killing Furlow: Quite a while back there was a discussion on the scifi bboard of how best to kill Furlow. I agreed with some other people that as satisfying as it might be, killing Furlow really wouldn't be good for Aeryn, or for John, for that matter. I did, however, feel that something needed to be done about this very annoying loose end. Enter Etael, an Elite who has not encountered the concept of respecting life for its own sake and therefore has nothing to lose.

In this story I went for, not the most *painful* method of killing Furlow, but the most *insulting*. It's flattering in a twisted sort of way to know that someone's gone to a great deal of trouble all to kill *you*, sort of along the principles of "the bounty on *my* head is bigger than the one on yours." It makes you no less dead, but it at least gives you the impression that you're important. Great crime lords are supposed to die in dramatic shootouts with police, not break their necks falling down the stairs.

Furlow got the fall on the stairs. Etael didn't know who Furlow was and didn't care. The strongest feeling Etael *had* about Furlow was distaste. This was not taking out an enemy, this was swatting a fly, disposing of a pest.

And ultimately, I think, Furlow *was* one of the universe's flies -- or fleas, given her tendency to leech off others. Swat, wash hands, and be done with it.

 

The title, of course, refers to the Golden Apples of Discord of Greek mythology. It was a squabble over one of these apples which, albeit indirectly, caused the Trojan War. Paris had to choose one of three powerful goddesses to whom to give the apple. Paris was an idiot and didn't realize how serious the situation was; he just thought with his mivonks (like most other heroes of Greek mythology at least 60% of the time), chose Aphrodite, ran off with Helen, and got his city sacked and his people and family slaughtered. Those of us who are not mythological heroes may realize that Paris was frelled as soon as he was chosen to be the judge: no matter *what* he did, he'd offend at least two goddesses.

Not being mythological heroes, the Elite know how precarious a situation they're in. What do you do? "Apples. Apples? What apples? Oh, yes, *those* apples -- uhhh -- you know, terribly sorry, someone stole them. No, really, they did. Sorry."

 

The annotations, found below, are an idea which occurred to me after I put in a particularly obscure reference -- either the worm farm or the solarmanite, I think. When I read fanfic -- or read other stuff, or watch TV, for that matter -- there are sometimes references which go right over my head. This I find faintly annoying. So, I decided to write an annotation describing the source of the obscure reference. I liked that, so I wrote annotations on the sources of a lot of not-so-obscure references and other things I felt worthy of mention. I seem to be very fond of writing annotations. I hope you might find them faintly useful.

 

I would like to give a huge thank you to:  
\--Desist (even though she bashes all my original characters), for the usual reasons  
\--Everyone who's given me feedback, for keeping me encouraged and motivated  
\--All the fanfic writers who inspired me to give this a try  
\--The people who run Scapespeak Statistics, without which site the vocabulary would be more dull  
\--The Save Farscape Campaign, on general principles  
\--The writers, cast, and crew of Farscape  
\--Everyone who reads this

Thank you!

Betan

 

**Annotations**

Elite names (throughout)-- There is no special form for the Elite personal (first) names, except that many of them seem to be two-syllable; they're also as a general rule non-gender-specific. Second names, as may have been gathered, are creche designations. As a general rule they consist of a prefix -- Rez, Est, Iz, Aw -- and a location -- Sarac, Renet, Aver, Marev, Ere, Kenna -- together describing a specific creche on a specific planet or base. The prefixes are probably equivalent to numbers or letters.

Elite terms (throughout)-- I just made up eztegine, ditenufine, ierogetic tubes, and most of the other incomprehensible terms.

Elite facial markings (throughout)-- Looking back, I was startled to realize I never provided a summary of these. The colors mostly follow the general Ashkren color-coding as described in part twelve. Green markings indicate command (or command aptitude), blue are general military ability, violet circles around the eyes indicate medic (the more defined the circles, the more skilled the medic), and so on. The markings, called aptitude stripes by the Elite, were programmed into them by the Ashkren in one of those way-too-condensed-and-complex-too-figure-out parts of the Generated genetic code, and are based partly on what's considered good genetic combinations for a position and partly on environmental factors.

unit conversion (throughout)-- I am using the ~The Flax~ scale of seconds-to-microts conversion; four minutes was equivalent to 180 microts. Therefore, 1 second = .75 microt, 1 minute = 45 microts. Unfortunately this is the *only* conversion scale we have, so we don't know how many microts to an arn, how many arns to a solar day, how many arns to an Earth day, and so forth -- and that's without even going into the whole metra thing. However, since an arn is *roughly* an hour, and a solar day is *roughly* an Earth day, I'm assuming there are somewhere in the neighborhood of 24 arns to a solar day. You'll note I avoid committing to an exact number.

//This is altogether too 'Wrath of Khan' for my liking// (part two)-- ~Star Trek~ reference.

Entropy gene (part four)-- The gene, or more accurately gene complex, which determines the lifespan of an Elite or other Generated. In the case of Elite, an individual remains roughly at peak for most of his or her life, but after a relatively short life everything starts to fail. All aging occurs within a few cycles, followed by death.

Rosetta Stone, Tutankhamen's tomb, Holy Grail, Pandora's Box (part four)-- Earth references. Fairly well-known, but just in case: the Rosetta Stone was a, well, stone which first enabled translation of some ancient languages. Tutankhamen's tomb was an extremely rich Egyptian tomb. The Holy Grail was the subject of Quests. Pandora's Box, from Greek mythology, contained all the troubles of the world, and when opened released them.

//Are you a good Elite or a bad Elite...?// (part five)-- ~Wizard of Oz~ reference.

moh'ssi (part six)-- Named after my dog.

thermal exhaust port to the main reactor (part eleven)-- ~Star Wars~, of course. How they blew up the first Death Star.

~Stalag 17~ (part thirteen)-- WWII escape movie.

Prince fanatic, the ceiling formerly known as purple (part fifteen)-- I know very little about the music artist Prince, but he (a) is associated with the color purple and (b) for a period in the 90's changed his name to an unpronounceable symbol. Everyone called him 'the artist formerly known as Prince.'

ditenufine (part sixteen)-- I made up the word off the top of my head. Ditenufine's effects, however, were largely inspired by (read: ripped off from) the similar drug fast-penta in the works of Lois McMaster Bujold.

worm farm, giant flesh-eating millipedes (part sixteen)-- Reference to an episode of ~Mystery Science Theater 3000~ in which they watched a movie called ~Squirm~. ~Squirm~ allegedly included mobs of human-eating worms, but what they were *filming* were millipedes or centipedes. Worms don't, as a matter of fact, have mandibles or legs. Quote from Mike and the bots near the end of the movie, as close as I can remember: "And remember: if you do start a worm farm, don't raise intelligent, flesh-eating millipedes by mistake."

Dr. Oppenheimer from Hell (part eighteen)-- Robert Oppenheimer was a nuclear scientist who, I believe, worked on one or more atomic bombs. Grovas also works with doomsday weaponry.

'not by the color of their walls but by the content of their corridors' (part eighteen)-- Again, sort of obvious, but a twisted allusion to Martin Luther King, Jr.'s 'I Have a Dream' speech.

solarmanite (part twenty)-- I, too, hesitate to try to explain this. It is a reference to ~Plan 9 from Outer Space.~

"one level, two level, red level, blue level" (part twenty)-- From ~One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish~ by Dr. Seuss.

red needles (part twenty-one)-- I admit, the exploding needles were adapted from the 'needle grenades' of many sci-fi books. The principle is pretty much the same: bomb shaped like needle that goes in and then blows up. Messy and lethal. The only important adaptation is if the needle here can't penetrate armor or scales, it sticks on and blows up.

Smokey the Neural Clone (part twenty-two)-- "Only *you* can prevent forest fires." Except of course it's usually a bear.

kewpie doll (part twenty-two)-- Okay, I actually have no idea what a kewpie doll is, though I assume it's some sort of arcade/carnival game prize. I've just heard the expression.

one hundred and four microts (part twenty-two)-- With my method of unit conversion, a little over two minutes.

Nero (part twenty-two)-- Again, pretty well-known, but just in case: Nero was a Roman emperor. A story about him gave rise to the expression 'fiddling while Rome burns,' which Nero supposedly did. No, they didn't have violins; it was a lyre, allegedly. John isn't a historian.

"A Sebacean and an Interion, I think..." (part twenty-three)-- Here is some more over-explanation. (I think I enjoy annotating waaay too much.) Yes, the companions Grovas would have been informed of before coming to try to collect John were a *Nebari* and an Interion -- assuming he read that far in the report. Since he saw Aeryn and didn't see Chiana, and didn't know about Aeryn already being there, he's revised the information he had rather than speculating farther afield.

"Plus, you kept running into walls. Not the person we want piloting us out of a long narrow docking shaft." (part twenty-five)-- I really, really, really wanted to make a ~GalaxyQuest~ reference here, but alas, John was in the UTs three months before the movie came out. Sigh.

~Sharp Stick~ (epilogue)-- I'm not sure whether John or Tacer came up with this, but either way it's a play on the Elite naming system for classes of ships (Spears, Arrows, Daggers, etc).


End file.
